


Welcome Back

by Axolotl7



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal, Angry Sex, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, F/M, Feels, Fight Sex, Fisting, Handcuffs, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Phil's Arms, Phil's Ties, Philinda - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Pure smut!, Smut, Spanking, Sub Melinda May, Submission, Teasing, Ties, Whipping, belt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl7/pseuds/Axolotl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure smut from start to finish.<br/> </p><p>
  <em>He bends down close and takes a second just to inhale her scent, enjoy the sight of her struggling spread out beneath him, to truly appreciate having captured so amazing a woman. So beautiful. So wild.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Surrender?” he chances asking with a smirk.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her frosty glare is both exactly what he was expecting and exactly what he was hoping for. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Set in the break before series 3 - Because there is NO WAY that Phil’s only reaction when May walks back onto the base and admits she’s been chasing down Ward is going to be: ‘it’s like you never left.’</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She Likes Him Dangerous

So I have had a complete overhaul and re-draft of this one but I didn't want to lose any of your lovely comments and they weren't given in respect of the amended chapter and possibly wouldn't make sense with that...

Upshot is I have simply uploaded the new chapter 1 as chapter 2!


	2. She likes him dangerous!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out as always to DG for beta-ing, for the original prompt and the inevitable encouragement! :D

Chapter 1 – She likes him dangerous!

 

May’s POV

Being grabbed upon returning to base after so long an absence was something she'd prepared herself to accept - the whole damn lot of them were huggers who hardly seemed to notice when she bristled in response!

The door being suddenly wrenched open as she approaches is also not a surprise - the agents on guard will have reported to him even if he hasn't set up an alert through the system for her id.

What is surprising is the hand that grabs her throat without warning and drags her through the doorway!

She’s no chance to react other than to bring her hands up to the one holding her throat, perilously close to choking her. She hears the door slam, feels it hard against her back as she’s immediately pressed up against it.

She tries instinctively to break the grip – to twist the thumb, to dig her fingers into pressure points on the palm and at the wrist, to prise fingers back, break them if necessary.

Ineffective.

Every move she makes is infuriatingly ineffective!

It takes a second longer than she likes for her mind to catch up – strong, hard, gloved. Leather covered steel rather than skin and flesh. The panic recedes slowly.

She stops trying to break his grasp, kicks out at the body behind it instead pleased when her strike connects and at the ‘oomf’ in response. It’s not enough to make the grip weaken though. She kicks the door behind her for leverage as she kicks out the other leg, a shin up to a more crucial area of his anatomy and the hand twitches against her throat in warning as he smoothly evades. 

“What’s going on up there?” she can hear Skye’s muffled concern through the doorway.

“Nothing we need to be concerned about,” is Bobbi’s calming response. She can almost imagine that Skye has taken a few hurried steps towards the door to check before Bobbi’s stepped into her path, restraining her with a calm touch to a shoulder and a few spoken words from authority.

She opens her mouth to call out but her breath is cut off and nothing emerges past the fingers too tight on her throat. 

She wonders briefly whether she has made a mistake assuming her attacker’s intentions not to be hostile as her body screams at her unable to catch a breath. Her hands hold more tightly on the robotic monstrosity restricting her windpipe. She twists and turns, kicks out, even tries to feel one hand down the arm that holds her in place to dig fingers into the underside of the elbow but that hand is trapped by another before she can do more than make the attempt.

Instinct takes over as her heart races and adrenaline surges through her trapped body. She’s swiftly shifted into fight or flight mode. Panic wavers at the edges of her thoughts when her body realises that it can do neither.

He could break her neck in an instant.

At any instant.

Certainly before she could reach for the gun at the small of her back, bring it around to aim and pull the trigger. She refuses to go down like this!

She goes for the gun anyway. Her one free hand darting around to the small of her back, dragging her shirt up out of the way to get her hand on skin warmed metal. 

He intercepts her wrist with his right hand, dropping her other, and slams the one holding the gun out to one side, back against the door hard. Once. Twice. His other hand squeezes again and her eyes are falling closed to try to concentrate on keeping hold of the weapon even as her other hand scrabbles frantically at the gloved replacement choking her. He forces her up higher, until she’s dancing on tip toes and drops the gun, both hands flying to hold on to his arm to try to support some of her own body weight.

“Don’t fight me, Melinda.” He must be joking? Not fight him!? Not fight when his fingers are at the very point of cutting off her breath. The hand is too strong for her to force it to release her. She aims for his body again – his robotic arm might be impervious to pain but the rest of him is only human – a knee towards his groin. It’s to punish him for attacking her, for getting the upper hand so easily when she’s the one with the advanced specialised training, as well as to try to force him to release her.

He easily holds her away, his hand lifting her up higher, until her toes barely brush the ground. Then she is struggling for breath, chest heaving rapidly in panic as her body works out that she can’t get the oxygen she needs in her lungs. Her hands hold on to his arm, wrapping around it seeking to support some of her body weight rather than have her whole body dangling from his too harsh grasp around her neck.

She kicks out again, hoping to catch any part of him as her focus begins to haze at the edges.

She should never have come back. 

“Dangerous enough for you?” he says closing his body in closer to her own but she’s still hazing on the adrenaline and can’t quite decide yet whether she’s actually pissed at him or just really, really turned on. 

She takes a moment. Takes stock of her pulse pounding through her ears, the tight ache in her nipples, the way her skin reacts to every brush of air sending her senses spiralling, the way her thighs clench together to try to relieve the ache between them, the damp heat there… yeah, okay so she’s really, really turned on. 

 

A memory flashes, a conversation:

_“New hand?” she’d asked him, the change from the previous more than a little noticeable._

_“Stronger, more resistant, can’t tie a Windsor but useful if I have to catch anymore Terrigen crystals...” he’d replied in a monotone. (It’d sobered her briefly – the reminder of how close she came to losing him again. His stupid heroics putting his life in danger. Again.)_

_“I like the new look. No restrictive suit. No risky ties...”_

_“I struggle to tie them,” he’d confessed with an abruptness that made her heart feel heavy._

_“You know I never liked them anyway – too easily turned into a weapon against you,” she’d tried to cover, get him to look on the bright side._

_“You liked them sometimes,” he’d answered with a smile that said he was thinking back to the last time a tie came in handy in a situation like this._

_“You don’t need the ties,” she’d said bluntly and she’d meant that in oh so many ways. “The hand gives you an advantage.” She knew he didn’t particularly want to hear it yet but he needed to start believing it. “With the new outfit it gives you a dangerous flair.”_

_He’s chuckled at that, “Bond villain-esq?”_

_She’d shrugged, “I like you dangerous.”_

 

He’s taken advantage of her momentary lapse in attention to press his body against hers, crowding her against the door, pinning her physically with more than just his replacement hand around her neck, which loosens enough to allow her to breathe unimpeded but remains a heavy weight in place, collaring her, threatening still.

She can feel his chest as it rises heavily and seemingly slow compared to her more rapid pace, can feel the tension of his body rigid against her, the hardness of his cock pressed at her hips. That they’re fighting doesn’t make the desire between them any less intense. If anything, the opposite is true. She’s always loved a good fight – the passion, the heat, the challenge. She can’t wait for them to throw down, to push this battle to its almost inevitable conclusion. 

“I don’t know whether to make love to you for coming back or punish you for staying away so long,” he whispers, his lips just brushing her ear as the words drifting through her hair like a wisp of a confession she’s imagining. There’s no less anger in his tone than in the tense line of his body - for all that it’s quieter, there’s just as much passion there. Quiet but furious. Dangerous as he claims.

Perfect. 

She shudders in his grasp despite herself, his threat and his damned inescapable hold controlling her in place making her hotter than she’d like to admit.

“Do I get a say?!” she snarls back quietly at him, not to change his mind - oh no, neither of them want that! But just because her body wants something doesn’t mean she’s going down without a fight.

“Sure,” he replies backing up his top half only so that he can keep her pinned but look her in the eyes. He’s far too suddenly smug, the rapid change makes her nervous... no, ‘cautious’. Cautious is sensible around Phil Coulson, especially when he’s in one of these moods.

“You can say ‘yes’,” he begins with a show of teeth that is more wild animal than a smile. She quickly scoffs, unwilling to let him know just how much his show of force gets to her. When his grin only widens, smug and dangerous, she knows that he sees through her anyway. Her eyes turn away to one side without her conscious thought directing them and he swoops back in close to toy with her ear, taking her moment of weakness for a surrender that it isn’t. Or that it might be. He’s always seen through her. Always. 

“You can say ‘more’,” he continues, breaking off his teasing for a moment only before continuing with a light nip to her ear to emphasise his point, before laving the hurt with a soothing tongue. The teasing wet touches have her tilting her head away to give him more access, her breath catching in her throat with every light nip and nibble of threatening teeth. Her entire focus is drawn down to that one ear. All her attention following every light trail that his nimble tongue runs around its shell, every exhale of warm breath tingling and dancing across her skin, and she just knows he’s smirking at how easily she succumbs to the pleasure he creates. 

“Or you can say ‘please’,” he breathes across the wet trails his tongue has left drawing a shiver from her body that only increases when he moves to catch her lobe, suckling wetly until she’s having to work to hold back the moan that wants to works its way out of her throat.

She’s wet and needy and knows it’s not just the violence or being overpowered or that damned teasing tongue setting a trail of fire directly from her ear to the mass of pleasure building low in her belly. It’s him. It’s always him. Her body knows his touch, anticipates, reacts in ways she cannot control. A Pavlovian response ingrained. Sometimes he’s only to look at her a certain way and her body responds. She knows he loves it. He loves how responsive she is, how despite her best attempts to control herself every time he starts something she’s wet and ready, aching for him even before the clothes come off.

She pulls him away, cursing herself for stopping him, and glares as best she can manage when her eyes hardly want to stay open in her fight against succumbing to the pleasure so easily. She holds his head so that his face is directly before hers, she wants no misunderstandings here.

“Yes,” she snarls breathless directly into his face. His slightly widening eyes tell of him surprise at her early concession. But it’s not a surrender. It’s a demand. A gauntlet thrown. A challenge she hopes to god that he’ll take her up on. “More,” she bites out the demand. She needs him hard and heavy inside her. An ear is not enough. “Please,” she drawls out sarcastically, all hard and fight and challenge, making it categorically clear that she’s humouring him only for the end results. There is no way she is conceding the fight, there is no way she is begging him... 

Well…

 

Certainly not yet.

 

 

x


	3. Phil's Reasoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Passion is a coin with two sides,_ he was told once, _love and hate indistinguishable in their strength of feeling, only a fine line and chance deciding which one ends up on top._
> 
> He smirks to himself as he recalls it now - he always ends up on top.
> 
> Usually, it’s because she prefers it that way. 
> 
> She might not this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less sexy more angry this time around - we gotta get the explanations in somehow folks!  
> I promise the next chapter will make up for it ;)
> 
> Thanks as always to Devilgrrl for beta-ing and keeping me (relatively) on track!

Chapter 2

 

Phil’s POV

“Yes,” she says first, breathlessly begging for what he knows they both want and he’s surprised that it’s come so early from her lips. The ‘more’ and derisory ‘please’ are more the attitude he expects from her. He’s pleased. It wouldn’t do for her to lose her fight too early in this – he’s so much more planned to torment her.

A part of him wants to hurt her, to punish her for not being there. For leaving him to deal with this whole mess alone. These tasks so far beyond his abilities. Inadequate his mind castigates him. Without her he’s one half of a whole. The lesser half.

But this isn’t about taking from her. It’s not even really about punishing her. This is about them. It’s about her willing surrender to the inevitable ‘them’. To not making decisions without him. To not going it alone. No more running. No more hiding. They are a ‘them’ and it’s time she realised it . 

He hates her for running, he hates himself slightly for letting her put the space between them, he hates her more for risking her life, for not even letting him know about it until it was too late to try to protect her. He needs her to realise that he’s involved, that they are a ‘they’ now, that she should talk to him before making these ridiculous decisions that could very possibly end her life without him . 

_Passion is a coin with two sides,_ he was told once, _love and hate indistinguishable in their strength of feeling, only a fine line and chance deciding which one ends up on top._

He smirks to himself as he recalls it now - he always ends up on top.

Usually, it’s because she prefers it that way. 

She might not this time around.

 

He can’t resist taking her lips again, biting at her bottom lip when she refuses to part them to let him taste her deeply. She gasps at the slight pain, letting his tongue press inside without hesitation. He batters her tongue down out of his way when she tries to tangle with him. He’s owning this kiss, he doesn’t need her help. He’s enjoying the little whimpering gasps that she can’t quite hold back as he rocks his hips against her body, tongue mimicking exactly what he intends to do to her. He breathes in deeply when he leaves, enjoying the glassy look on her face. Conquering the powerful is intoxicating . 

 

She enjoys being conquered if the heat from between her legs is any indication as he drops a hand down to rub firmly over her, pushing the seam of her pants up to rub over her until she gasps and he knows he’s got exactly the right place to make her squirm.

She fights him, of course she does.

He likes that she fights back. Not to brush him off or take him down or force him off of her. He’s little doubt she could do that if she wanted to. She doesn’t – she fights with claws and teeth when he tries to take control. She fights just to make a point, struggles because she wants him as rough as he can give it to her. She pushes him so that he’ll push back harder.

She tries to ignore what he’s doing, biting back the gasps and the moans that want to erupt from her throat, holding her own body rigidly in place to keep from writhing and grinding against him. It just makes it that much more enjoyable when she eventually does give in, squirming against him, almost soundless whimpering cries leaving her throat.

He knows she’s nearing the edge when her legs start to shake, her eyes falling closed, head rolling back against the door as the muscles in the rest of her body coil tense. The breathy whimpering sounds change to an endless repeating stream of pleases that he has to move his head closer to hear. He loves it when she begs him. He loves how she only lets go like this with him. Normally so controlled, so in control of herself, her body, her reactions, so far removed from everyone else around her and here she is out of control, simply letting her body take over, gifting him the control over her to do with as he pleases. 

He’s not quite ready to let her take flight just yet. 

It takes a few seconds for her to realise that he’s stopped. Her harsh breath rasping in his ear as she strives to regain a semblance of control over herself as the wave slowly recedes. He waits her out in silence, gives it time to sink in. Tries not to grin in appreciation of his own dastardly plan to drive her slowly insane with pleasure.

“What?” she starts breathlessly when the fact that he’s stopped finally filters through the pleasure induced haze no doubt clouding her thoughts. “Phil?” her question is half needy whining and he just loves that. It makes him feel so powerful, so in control to have her whining for him to pleasure her further.

He strokes the hair that’s stuck to her sweat soaked forehead back from her eyes so that he can look directly into them, enjoy the slightly glassy look, the pupils blown wide with desire, as he tells her “Not yet, Melinda. I’m still pissed at you.” He watches as her brain takes a little time to digest what exactly that means for her, here and now. He keeps smiling as it takes a while for the frown to cross her features. He really has got her on the back foot this time. It’s not often he pulls the rug so cleanly out from under her that she’s left trying to catch up. He quite enjoys it actually. Even if he is still pissed as all hell at her!

“Pissed?” she manages to ask and it draws his mind immediately back to the task at hand – punishing one Melinda Qiaolian May until he’s satisfied that she will make better decisions in the future. 

He brings his replacement hand up slowly, knows that she clocks the change from pleasuring to threatening almost immediately from the way her body tenses in preparation for fight or flight. Nah, only fight. Melinda May doesn’t do flight. It’s one of the stupidly reckless parts of her that she gives him good cause to hate. Sometimes flight is the better option. 

“I was pissed as hell when you left...” he begins to explain, knowing even before she opens her mouth that she’ll be interrupting to give him the same lame ass excuses. Her eyes flick to his in anger as her mouth opens. He stops her before sound escapes, his replacement hand re-finding its hold around her slender neck, not choking just holding in warning, threatening in a manner that makes her breath catch, makes her swallow, makes a tongue swipe out across suddenly dry lips in a way that his own tongue wants to echo. He inhales forcibly to bring himself back under control. This is more important than simple urges. 

“I understood that you needed time. You needed space. So I gave it to you,” he’s ended on a whisper. If they were lovers just now, friends even, he’d have voiced the promise that he’ll always give her whatever she needs. They’ve not been that close for a while now but the softening in her expression, the shine in her eyes makes him wonder if she’s heard the unspoken promise anyway. She’s always been able to read his mind.

It’s him that doesn’t possess the same power; he needs her to speak her thoughts. He needs her to communicate. To just God damn TELL HIM! It doesn’t take much to reignite his anger and he can see the recognition of the switch written across her face, can see the promise of violence reflected back at him through her eyes and through the way her arms rise out to the sides - to better attack or defend, he doesn’t know, he’s not even sure she knows herself.

“I-” she tries with words first, his go to defence not hers and that annoys him more than it probably should. This whole thing is a result of her not talking to him, of her running off and doing without thought of speaking first. His hand tightens down around her throat, cutting off her words almost of its own volition . 

“You don’t get to talk right now,” he instructs in the most moderate tone he can force his voice to take when the only thing he wants to do is shout her down, let her feel some of his pain. It comes out almost as a gentle admonition, he’s pleased to note. It’s in direct contrast to the dangerous grasp collaring her throat, threatening even as he forces the hand to open to let her breathe, let her speak if she’s unwise enough to do so. 

“Six months you’ve been gone, Melinda. Six long months where I’ve been keeping the world from falling apart, keeping the team together as best I can. Stopping Fitz from throwing himself into suicidal situations, stopping Morse from giving up, stopping Skye from leaving all together. Six months where I’ve been without my left hand and my right hand.” 

“You just-” she starts but his fingers cut off her speech easily in reminder of both his instruction and his ability to carry out his threat.

“Yes. I just made a hand joke. Shush now. My point is: you’ve been gone for over six months and then I find out that rather than taking the time to rest up away from Shield as you claimed you needed, you are out on a revenge spree after possibly THE most dangerous man currently on the planet.”

She rolls her eyes at that and he’s holding tightly to his control over the hand to ensure it doesn’t clamp down to punish her. Her devil may care attitude may work for her, her senselessly throwing herself into danger does not work for anyone that cares for her. It does not work for him! “He’s not-” her attempt at justification, at belittling the danger makes him see red.

“He’s dangerous and you damn well know it! Better still, he’s got a real thing for vengeance and you are currently HIS NUMBER ONE TARGET!!! How exactly did it fit into your brain that going after HIM was a good idea?!” Okay so maybe he’s ended up shouting but she’s just... so... damn... infuriating in her complete refusal to see the danger to herself! 

“I-”

“And your only back up being Hunter! HUNTER, for God’s sakes, Melinda, what the hell were you thinking?! One small mercenary is not sufficient back up against a snake the likes of Ward!” he ends up shouting, breath coming heavily and more angry than he cares to admit to being. She could have been hurt, could have been killed and he’d have never known that she’d even put herself back in the field. He is going to kill Hunter for his part in this ridiculous idea too. Just as soon as he’s driven home the lesson to Melinda that she does not keep him out of the loop on stuff like this, she does not get to take risks with her life without discussing it with him, without giving him the opportunity to at least be able to try to limit those risks with planning, intelligence and copious backup!

“Are you going to let me get a word in?” she replies argumentatively when he’s silent for a breath.

“No,” he confirms sharply, “Not when everything you say is just going to drag your ass into more trouble.” But his fingers on her throat say differently as they don’t prevent her from speaking her piece. He almost wants to hear her justification despite what he says. He wants there to be a good reason for her not considering him in all of this. Maybe that her phone broke or that she left a message or that she was under surveillance or ... just SOMETHING. Some reason that would make it alright. Some reason that he can hang this relationship on...

“You’re being ridiculous,” she starts and he just knows that they’re winding up to a real clash very soon.

“And you’re pissing me off,” he snaps back, unreasonably incensed by her refusal to give him the reason he was hoping existed but dreading probably did not. 

“Deal with it!” she says and makes a move to attempt to escape his grasp that fails almost before she starts.

“I AM!” he half roars back, fist hitting the door to the side of her head in a way that allows him to vent his anger safely. That she barely flinches from the strike is something he’ll spend a while thinking about later. “I am dealing with it by not beating your ass bloody right now for hiding away from me, lying to me for six months so that you can go all gung ho and try to get yourself killed on a revenge mission. HE’S NOT WORTH THAT!” 

“You knew where I was,” she spits out struggling despite the restriction, the threatening fingers tightening down on her throat just to the side of uncomfortable trying to keep her quiet. You just didn’t care to come get me, is what she means, is what he hears. He was giving her the space she wanted, the space she asked him for and she just turns it around like he’s not even...

 

She scowls at him, interrupting his thoughts with a shove from both of her hands to his shoulders that hardly moves him an inch, probably isn’t intended to but communicates her frustration and certainly gets his attention. 

“Can we have this ‘conversation’ (and the way her lips twist around that word makes it clear that the choice was not her first) without me pinned to the wall?” she spits out carefully keeping control over her tone.

“I like you pinned to the w-” he starts but she interrupts waaay before he’s anywhere near finished.

“I’d noticed,” she interrupts dryly, pushing her thigh against his hard cock, which he quickly moves back out of range. She’s defensive, he can almost see her hackles rising, trying to turn this into something purely about the physical when it is so much more than that to both of them and she knows it.

“I like you pinned because when you’re beneath me, I know exactly where you are. I know you’re not pretending to be at your father’s house. I know you’re not off hunting a psychopath.” With each statement she struggles to get out from between him and the door a little harder, each repetition a blow he knows she must feel if she’s even half of the feelings he has for her reflected back. “I know you’re not pretending that the civilian life is what you want. I know you’re not trying to get yourself killed without even telling me you’re going into the field.” Her fighting becomes more frantic, her hands both coming up to try to prise his grasp on her neck away. 

He brings up his hand to catch her face, to stop her struggle and bring her eyes to his because this is important. It is so important that he needs to drill this home. 

“I know you’re safe.” 

 

 

x


	4. You're No Longer Pinned To The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am feeling so betrayed by 3x07 that I need this! Damn those writers ruining our Philinda times!

Chapter 3

 

Melinda’s POV

“I know you’re safe,” he says and she softens at that, stops fighting, stops trying to escape him.

He might have some reason to be annoyed, she accepts that. A little. At the end of the day, it is still her life. It is still her decision what she does. Whether she risks it. It was her decision to go after Ward. Still is.

She just appreciates that maybe she should have called him first. She’s not even really a reason for why she didn’t in the end. She’d thought about it, sure. She’d even gone to pick up the phone a few times. Punched up his contact once or twice just thinking about hearing the sound of his voice before they made another move in their game of chess to corner the self-proclaimed king. She’d never pressed call.

“I should have called,” she agrees. It’s the only concession she’s willing to make.

A hand upon her upper arm spins her forcibly around him to stand in the centre of the room, almost bereft for an instant without the warmth of his body pressed against her. He steps in close, robotic hand still around her throat coiling around her shoulder and trapping her arm in place as he pulls her back against him, feet struggling with tiny steps to try to regain the balance that the sudden move stole. His other hand she feels shift to grab at a hip, dragging her back until she can feel his hard cock up against the crack of her ass, until he’s standing flush behind her, no less in control for the swift change in position but twice as threatening covering her back and out of sight. She gasps without meaning to react and knows that he’ll be smiling at his ability to take her by surprise even as those smiling lips take up position to tease her ear with that oh so unfairly talented tongue. 

“Better?” he asks cockily and she’s so lost for a moment that she’s no idea what he means. “You’re no longer pinned to a wall,” he elaborates all smug mockery as his hand leaves her hip to flip beneath her top to wander a ticklish trail around her stomach, dipping teasingly lower before swooping back up, tormenting her.

She widens her stance slightly in response. It’s not an invitation though it could be interpreted as such – it’s a better position from which to fight as well. Ah who’s she kidding? 

The violence as his replacement hand leaves her throat to grab for her shirt makes her gasp aloud. Tearing and ripping the fabric up and apart seemingly effortlessly, buttons ricocheting across the floor like marbles. A show of pure masculine strength that has her body weaving on her feet, blood pounding through her ears.

“PHIL!” It’s not a complaint that gives rise to her outburst; it’s shock. He’s always been dominant but he’s never been destructive with it before. It makes her view him in a new light – no, that’s not quite right - it makes her see him properly, another facet to him. It makes her appreciate the rage inside of him more, the part he hides away, let’s her feel how close to the surface it is just now, how angry he is to let the ordinary man facade drop. The everyman mask conceals not just his intelligence, not just his wit and his caring. It hides his dangerous side. She’s always known; she just hadn’t fully appreciated that there was any room there for needless destruction . 

“Sorry,” he mumbles not sounding particularly contrite.

There’s an instant’s hesitation as his cheek brushes hers to stare down at her breasts that makes her smile. Well... maybe it wasn’t needless destruction...

One finger slips under the band of her bra, and she knows what’s likely coming. Just a single innocuous digit slipped between her skin and the light band of material nestling between the two cups. A quick tug laces fire across her back for an instant before the clasp succumbs, fabric tearing in half and falling to either side completely exposing her. She shivers in the chill air of his office, already peaked nipples hardening further, tingling deliciously at the sensation. He smirks at her reaction, blowing warm air down from over her shoulder across each in turn until she’s struggling to hold her body in place and not to writhe uncontrollably against him.

“Not sorry,” he says before she can comment.

She can’t help the twitch of a smile at the corners of her lips despite the loss to her wardrobe. 

She’ll buy new . 

 

x

 

He leaves his head propped with his chin resting on her shoulder as his hand strokes down her body briefly before quickly wandering back up, his intent obvious. Her right breast gets the perfect treatment, cupped in the palm of his hand as his thumb brushes over the hard peak of her nipple. Fingers drumming a staccato beat around and over her before moving to stroke in a manner designed to heighten the senses than to sooth. A pinch, unexpected only in timing, has her gasping as her eye lashes flutter softly closed to better concentrate on this moment of softness from him, anger so tightly leashed, like the eye of the storm she knows it won’t last.

When he pulls her closer, tries to reach across her body with his right hand to give the same worship to her left she feels her heart breaking for him. That he can reach and manages perfectly well… okay far better than perfectly well… doesn’t mean that this is right. “You’ve two hands, Phil,” she reminds him pointedly. She knows he doesn’t particularly want to hear it . 

He snorts lightly, derisive but he does take the time at least to think it through. “You really do like it dangerous,” is what he seems to settle upon and she’s holding her breath almost as his leather covered hand moves down from her throat, pressing over her breast as though a thing completely apart from him. 

“It’s your hand, Phil,” she reminds him, patience almost completely fled at the fact that he’s stopped. Again.

When his fingers move too quickly, grabbing just a little too hard, cutting her off before she can continue as pain hits her instead, she doesn’t know whether it’s his lack of control over the replacement limb or intentional. She breathes heavily through the pain, pushing it to one side, rising above it but still grateful as he lets up the pressure almost immediately. 

It’s harder to set aside the pleasure as he starts to experiment and tease.

“Hmm,” he muses, the vibration of his hum running through her shoulder as he plays alternating pressure between the two, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger nimbly with the right but forced to concentrate to try to get the left to work in the same way. Every teasing tormenting tickling stroke or pinch or pressure across her skin is echoed repeatedly until each elicits the same response from her body – a gasp, a moan, a sigh. If she still had the mind to concentrate then she’d remember, she’d fake the same reaction to both, because just currently his experimentation is driving her slowly insane. 

She loses track of the times his fingers don’t quite co-operate with his wishes, either clamping down a little too tight making her still and hold her breath or losing her entirely as his fingers fail to hold tightly enough to pull at her as he wishes. It’s clearly a frustration for him but it takes up all of her focus to hold herself still in place whilst he experiments instead of moving her hands to bring herself off . 

“Phil, please,” she breaks. She knew that she would eventually. His hands know exactly how to drive her wild; how to use her body to overthrow her sense and self-control. Any more of this teasing and she will throw him to the ground and take what she wants ! 

“Problem?” he asks, finally paying some attention to her instead of just her breasts and his god damned hands.

Many problems. Too many to name. A large number of which he’s very much responsible for creating. She settles on the most relevant: “I want to come .” 

“And I wanted you safe away from Shield,” is his only verbal answer but his hands do move in silent response – his stronger replacement moving up swiftly to collar her throat again, the threat, the reminder that all is not well between them, that he’s still angry, still ‘pissed’ at her. She holds back the tremor at his renewed threat. 

Play time is over.

 

The fingers of his right hand drift down lower, circling over the skin of her stomach, fingertips trailing down to rub teasingly over… clothing that is simply in the God damned way! Her right hand moves from where she had instinctively grabbed at his arm as it went again for her throat, to scrambling at the button of her pants, fumbling in her haste at the promise of something so much better than fighting and more teasing.

His hand catches hers as the button finally slips free, his thumb caressing her palm as he holds her in place more gently than she’d imagined he’d be capable of given his renewed anger and the harsh leather covered metal collar still riding around her neck in constant threat. He pushes her hand back down after a moment, his larger hand covering hers, guiding her fingers as he presses them both down against her lower stomach. He strokes lightly, slowly, forcing her hand to comply beneath his so that she’s stroking her own skin at his command. She’s silent. Waiting. Tense in anticipation.

Though it’s far later than she desires, he does eventually move their combined hands down lower, pushing them tightly against her, drawing her hips back against him, as he dips them below her half open jeans, carding fingers, hers and his own, through the light hair before pushing her lower without further teasing. She gasps, hears him echo it close to her ear, and lets her head roll back against his shoulder at the first touch of his fingers exactly where she needs them.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers and she’s not entirely sure that he needed to say anything given that she knows first-hand exactly how wet and ready she is for this. For him.

She lets out a moan that reverberates through her whole body when he pushes her fingers further down, encouraging her to stroke through the wet lips, to pleasure herself at his direction. She allows herself to collapse back against him, relying upon him for support as her legs threaten to collapse beneath her. 

She’s balancing on the edge of something overwhelming and she knows it, gasping and trying to grind, to angle her hips as their fingers pass, to pull her hand from his to move so that they slip inside where she so desperately needs... but he doesn’t let her.

He holds her to the oh so slow build up. He’s too mean. It’s verging on cruel. Evil, she’d go so far as to suggest in the confines of her own mind.

She so close. Too close. Too quickly. She can’t think.

She can only feel. Feel as his longer fingers wrap around hers, pressing harder on their route from the very back, just teasingly rubbing over that so sensitive spot before moving on to tormentingly very nearly almost dipping inside of her before moving up further to rub – Oh God! – to rub with her fingers with just the right amount of pressure...

And repeat. Back, oh sooo good, just teasingly tinglingly dipping just the tips as he swipes across her entrance, his inhale drawing breath to tease across her neck as she moans long and low, his fingers leading hers onwards, upwards, rubbing and circling as her brain leaks down to the maelstrom gathering greater speed in her lower stomach, building her up further until she’s certain that she’ll be swept away…

Then again. And oh god! she’s so close. So soooo close. She could just… tip… over…

And then he stops her.

Again.

She lets her head drop forwards, hair hiding her face from his view, as she closes her eyes tightly shut and tries not to whine pathetically at the unfairness of it all.

He’s evil. She’s certain of it . 

“I hate you,” she tells him, exhausted.

 

x

 

Phil’s POV

She doesn’t even open her eyes to glare at him, just utters out an exhausted “I hate you” that he knows isn’t anything close to the truth of her feelings for him and he smirks at his abuse of power. 

“I find that highly unlikely,” he says laughingly and his grin only widens when she turns her head to fix him with a glare over her shoulder. It’s a look that says he’s dancing oh so close to the line. A look that says if he were anyone else he’d be dead, that she’d have eaten him alive for playing with her. You do not tease a wild animal . 

“You’re hardly on the high ground when it comes to honesty,” she snarls back at him. It’s a low blow. One that hits him hard. Exactly like it was supposed to, he’s little doubt. She’s always fought with whatever weapons she has to hand. He knew that if he pushed her she’d fight back.

“Point taken,” he agrees after a long inhale. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you come any sooner though,” he rallies quickly, enjoying the way her eyes shift from stone to cut glass – just as hard but ten times as sharp.

 _“Let_ me?” she dares him to respond, a flash of temper in her eyes. 

How he loves her fire! 

She’s caught, she’s trapped but this beautiful magnificent creature will not just bow to his control. She’ll only give in once he’s proved himself worthy. He can’t beat her at the physical alone. This is a battle won in the mind more than anywhere else. He doesn’t just want to take her, doesn’t just want to possess her body, he wants all of her. He wants her willing surrender.

He spins her about so that she’s facing him, dropping his replacement hand from her throat to her lower back; no longer restraining, just encouraging her to remain in place. She can move if she wants to, he’s saying with this move, she can run away if she wishes... he’d probably still have to hunt her down if she did, but she doesn’t need to know that right away.

He leans down close over her, until their faces can almost touch, challenging her with his proximity alone. Daring her to fight him, to bite him, see what it gets her. He loves the way her breath catches, her pulse racing beneath flushed skin. He can almost read her thoughts as they fly behind her eyes, a whirl of options to use in battle, more words, biting and cutting internally, or the physical, maybe to injure, maybe just to get him to back off. He stares her down, waits her out.

He can feel the air growing charged in the inch of space between them. Both aroused. Both angry. Neither of them willing to be the one who gives in first.

He can feel nerves or anticipation unfurling low in his stomach, making him almost second guess his ability to control this marvellous creature. She who so far outclasses him in almost every way. He doesn’t deserve her . 

She’s his anyway. It’s time she learned that again.

He knows that his expression probably hardens with his resolve. He catches the flicker when her eyes widen at the change. _”Let_ you,” he confirms in a whisper, a breath away from her firmed lips. His eyes bore into hers, daring her to refute it, daring her to take him on, to push back so that he can conquer her.

The drop of her eyes from his direct gaze is the minute concession he’s waiting for and he smiles as he presses a kiss against the hard line of her still angry mouth. 

She doesn’t bite him. So he bites her - teasing little nips across her bottom lip until she inhales abruptly, parting to let him inside. Surrendering on a sigh.

He enjoys her softness while it lasts, possessing her mouth eliciting little moans and deep throated whimpers. He knows it won’t last. 

He hasn’t conquered her yet.

 

He’d be disappointed if he had.

 

 

x


	5. Trust: It's Everything They Don't Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not much smut in this one but well... it was a necessary linking chapter so u can have lots more in the next chapter

Chapter 4 - Trust: Everything they don’t have right now

 

Melinda’s POV

He’s teasing her and tormenting her and ... quite frankly it’s driving her insane!

She loves his possessiveness – she does. She loves how he takes control, demands her compliance and fucks her like it’s his god damned right to do so. It’s sexy as all hell. Even him being pissed at her, being more demanding than usual, the hint of violence, the edge of crazy to his usual confoundedly annoying self-control – all of that just makes it even hotter.

His lips are hard against hers, a kiss full of teeth that nip and catch intending to punish her with the slight pains, proving that irrespective of her wants in this instance he will do as pleases him. Every nip to her lips shoots sparks of pleasurable pain down to her clit. Every time her tongue is battered down out of his way, forced to concede and let him ride roughshod over her, tasting and plundering as he desires she can’t help but moan. Every time he steals her breath, sucking the very life from her lungs, demanding that she prioritise his kiss over breathing, that her body shakes and trembles becoming lightheaded momentarily. Every damn time, she’s so much closer to just giving in, to just begging him to fucking fuck her like they both want.

The strength of his arms around her holding her tightly against his chest, the pure masculinity of him crushing her in close as his lips press down atop hers, controlling, punishing. It’s only force of will that keeps her from grinding against him as her thighs clench tightly together, rubbing as she shifts trying to find some way to ease the ache between them without giving in completely to him.

She can’t help the whimper that trembles out of her throat as he draws back, the both of them breathing deeply, her hardened nipples rubbing up against his shirt clothed chest with every inhale doubling the pleasure feedback that’s trying to short out her mind. Riding on the haze of desire she raises her head, leaning up into him eyes still closed, blindly seeking his lips once more even as she struggles to recover the breath she’s lost.

When his lips don’t find hers her eyes do slowly open to look up at him in question.

He smiles and she finds her own lips lifting in response. He always does that – smiles at her and makes her want to smile back, even when she’s pissed or trying to be aloof. He leans back down over her and her eyes fall closed anticipating his lips that press oh so gently to her own slightly swollen ones, the merest hint of a kiss, before backing away. The ghost of his breath as he speaks sends tingles across her wet lips. 

“You need to apologise before I’ll fuck you, Melinda,” he whispers an explanation before his lips back away entirely.

Her face must show her immediate disappointment at that because his smile turns into a smirk right before her eyes. She shuts it down, slams her usual mask back in place despite knowing he can sometimes see even through that the things she wants hidden, glares up at his smug expression in denial. She needs to get control. She tries to get a grip on her arousal, tries to damp it down, control her more than obvious reactions somehow because she just knows that he’s got the upper hand whilst ever her head’s swimming and heart’s pounding as her body demands that she do anything to just continue the pleasure. The heat between her legs is only increasing whilst ever she stands so close to him, whilst ever he threatens and attempts to dominate her.

His condescending chuckle at her expense turns the heat into anger. Infuriating man that he is he simply smiles at her glare where others would worry, would tremble, would probably run and try to hide. He simply stands there smug and so god damned certain that he’s going to win. Well, not this time. This time she is not apologising, she is not conceding to his ridiculous demands on her life and she is most definitely not simply letting him win.

“You know what,” she snaps out incensed. “Fuck you!” Her arms come up to swing down on his, breaking his grip in a way that she knows will probably leave bruises before charging past him to the door, shoulder checking him on her way past. Enough is e-fucking-nough! 

He’s frozen in place for less than a half-second before spinning to counter her – his swift response making it abundantly clear that he’s expected her move to break free. He’s always been able to predict her too damn well! His hand finds her upper arm, squeezes down just on the edge of becoming painful as she rockets the other elbow back into his stomach. He twists away avoiding the most of the power of the blow but keeps a hold of her arm. She stands firmly in place – tells herself that it’s because she doesn’t actually want to hurt him. She knows that she’s lying to herself, knows that there’s a far more pressing reason for continuing to stay, for waiting upon his reaction, giving him the opportunity to convince her to stay. Or maybe just waiting for him to make her.

“Let me go,” she says staring at the door, the exit, the way out. Her way out.

“You want to go? I thought you wanted to cum,” is his cocky rejoinder. One she doesn’t particularly have an answer for at this immediate moment in time – she doesn’t want to leave, she doesn’t particularly want to stay on his terms either.

She glares at the door.

“Decide Melinda,” he orders simply.

She doesn’t want to make this decision. Why won’t he just take the decision out of her hands – he normally would. He’s never been cautious of overwhelming her uncertainties before. Even if she sometimes needs to push him to it. “I’d prefer you fuck me,” she starts and can almost feel the relief behind her through the little air between them. She’s not ready to concede. “But I will leave and find someone who will without all the games-” 

“This is not a game,” he snaps tightly leashed rage suffusing his words no matter how quietly he utters them for her ears alone.

The fingers that come back up to close down around her throat confirm it – he’s pissed and she’s overpowered. She holds back the smile that twitches at the corners of her lips. He’s overpowered her. Sure she could fight him still but he’d just lift her from the floor, leave her dangling like a kitten and feeling twice as weak. It makes her body tremor lightly. He’s never been able to simply overpower her physically before. She’s always had the upper hand. She’s always had to be the one to restrain herself, to hold herself in check to let him tie her up or to not break out once tied. 

Not this time it appears. 

This time he’s the advantage and he’s taking it. She can’t say she’s disappointed. 

She needs this. 

They both need this. They’ve burned so many bridges recently that they need this fire, this passion. They need to push, need to test this trust in each other... make sure it’s still there, that they haven’t actually lost everything. 

“Don’t push me, Melinda,” he whispers darkly threatening into her ear, matching her fire with fire, push for push. “I am too pissed right now for you to want to push me.” She can’t deny the flood of wetness at his words. Oh how she wants to push him. Desperately, needily. She wants the fire. She pulls a little at his hold, testing his resolve perhaps, pushing just a little to see if he’ll react with force. He presses himself close against her back, pulls her hard against him, forcing her up to her tiptoes, the pressure of his gloved hand upon her throat holding her captive.

A whirlwind of confused feelings makes the pit of her belly quake even as blood roars through her ears, her pulse pounding as hard between her legs as through her head.

She suddenly can’t stand that he’s not touching her skin to skin. She needs him, needs his touch to comfort her. She grabs for his hand to pull it to her lips, pressing a chaste kiss to his palm in thanks, maybe even in apology for her comments, for her part in this, for hurting him. She doesn’t know the answers either. She’s just as angry, just as hurt. She won’t admit to feeling just as scared. She pulls his wrist around to cradle his palm against the side of her face, holding it there for another moment. Breathes him in. Revels in it. But it’s too good. Too comforting. Too reminiscent of the people they were before. A comforting lie.

He lets her pull his palm back around towards her lips, towards her teeth, towards danger. He’s always a little too trusting for her liking, it exposes him to far too much risk. It’s the reason he’s almost died once again, the reason she’s very nearly lost him again. She scrapes her teeth across the pulse point on the inside of his wrist, a threat, a warning, and still he doesn’t withdraw. He only takes a shaky breath.

Trust.

It’s everything.

 

… It’s everything they don’t have right now. 

She bites down hard, decision made and he pulls his arm from her stepping back with an oath. She spins and just looks him over, assesses his reaction more fully, takes in the anger and betrayal in his eyes as he cradles his injured hand. 

Anger and betrayal, she’ll take that. It echoes her own fire. Let them burn together.

 

She smirks at him, deliberately taunting, and he reacts with a loss of control she’s so rarely seen. He backhands her, swift, efficient, startling. She takes the blow. It snaps her head to the side with a force that makes her take a quick step to correct her balance. A pain blossoming immediately across her cheek. He’d never hit her, she was certain, up until now. 

She takes the time to run her tongue around the inside of her mouth, across her teeth checking as he stands and watches her in silence. Stunned by his own capacity for violence? Probably. She’s never doubted it. She only doubted that he’d ever turn it on her. 

She takes her time watching his half horrified eyes simply because she doesn’t know whether to feel pissed that he’s struck her or to acknowledge the small part of her that finds his taking control violently arousing. She can’t deny being pleased by his inability to control his emotional response – she’s so close to all of her emotions boiling to the surface between them that it seems only fair that he is similarly affected by whatever this is between them.

“I...” he starts quietly regretful, the anger flared and gone so swiftly but he can’t seem to find the words. 

His real hand - no they’re both real, both a part of him now. His flesh hand comes up to her face instead. They both watch in silence as his fingertips stall in the air in front of her, hesitating to take that last whisper of a breath of distance to touch her. He inhales shakily then takes the plunge. He knows she’ll stop him if she wishes, violently so if she wishes. His fingertips are soft and gentle. Caressing like she’s fine china that might break if he uses a firmer touch. He should know better than to think she’s breakable. She isn’t. The only thing delicate is this connection between them – silken cord stretched too fine, almost to breaking? God she hopes not! 

He still takes his time, that sweeping trail of almost touch gentling down where her cheek will probably bruise, up across her brow, over the arch of an eyebrow. Her eyes flutter closed to better focus on the sensation. His fingertips trail their way slowly down the side of her face, brushing over cheekbones, tickling over her bottom lip. A teasing shadow of touch that’s gone before she wants leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. Her tongue darts out without thought to run across her lip, to press away the lingering tingle, and his thumb brushes back across her lip more firmly in its wake. His palm encases her cheek so gentle in contrast to the violence and she’s tilting her head back into his touch, accepting, apologising, she’s unsure.

But she doesn’t want gentle. 

“I’m so-”

“Don’t apologise,” she interrupts swiftly. She doesn’t want his apologies, doesn’t want the gentleness, doesn’t want the choices he’ll give her if he so much as thinks about backing down. She doesn’t want that. “Just stop teasing me and fuck me,” she says – it’s a demand, a challenge and a plea all at once. 

She prays that he will. She used to believe he’d give her anything she needed, everything if he could... and take everything from her too. She wills him to understand that she wants that still, needs that from him. They are not too far gone down their roads to find their way back and walk once more together, she just needs him to grab her, to make the decision and drag her back… even if she runs.

He looks into her eyes for the briefest of moments, reading her in a language known only to him - probably more than she wants him to discern, even now. Maybe especially now. Then he’s closing the distance between them, grabbing her upper arm only to force her unresisting about, pushing her to land heavily with her stomach over the desk, her quickly placed arms breaking an impact that would have hurt. 

Well... it appears he’s picking up that gauntlet and tossing it the hell back.

Safely concealed by hair curtaining her face from his view, she allows the smirk to cross her lips.

 

Perfect.

 

 

x


	6. That's Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh plans... gotta love Phil's plans...
> 
> All thanks to Devilgrrl who makes this somewhat readable for you lot ;)

Chapter 5 – That’s Three

 

Phil’s POV

She tries to push back up from where she’s landed but he’s on her in an instant. A solid hand between her shoulder blades forcing her back down, the air rushing from her lungs in a whoosh of breath as she slams against the table top. He’s not entirely got a handle on the strength of this thing yet but she doesn’t complain at the roughness.

“Going to fuck me yet, Director?” she goads him. When she can’t fight the physical, she’s always there with the verbal. Pushing, challenging, goading. Trying to manipulate him into giving her what she wants. He scoffs at the idea that he wouldn’t see through so obvious an attempt to assert control.

“Oh I’m not going to fuck you, Melinda,” he whispers as he leans down, flattening his chest to her back so that she can feel all of him crowding her in place. He delights in the trembling of her body under his despite not knowing specifically whether it’s his threateningly quiet words, his close proximity or the fact that he has, for once, seemingly got her pinned down in place outmatched. He feels a surge of primal pleasure in it, a conqueror’s fierce satisfaction. “I am way too angry at you to just give you what you want,” he snarls quietly and the prolonged shudder that follows his words makes clear which of the three currently holds her mind’s control. “And I am nowhere near done punishing you yet.” There’s a fully audible gasp from her at his stated continuing intent to punish her further. She can’t honestly have believed that he’d just give up? He’s a plan. He’ll carry it out. Can’t wait to carry it out in fact. There’ll be much more gasping then, of that he is in no doubt. 

He leans back up away from her, keeping one palm squarely between her shoulder blades to hold her in place where she shivers lightly thrown over his desk. Could there honestly be a better sight in the world? 

A half naked Melinda May... pinned over his desk... almost begging him to fuck her...

Well...

Yes there could. 

A fully naked Melinda May would be far better wouldn’t it? 

 

He kicks her legs apart further, gloating as her breath catches as her balance is forced to shift. Her need increasing as he leaves her feeling vulnerable, exposed even through the limited clothing she still wears. He can read her desire clear in the way she cants her hips, seeking to tempt his touch to where she wants it probably subconsciously – Melinda rarely gives up so easily so early.

He’s more than happy to comply with her small demand in this instance. He’s just one minor issue - he can’t get his hand between her and the desk, can’t fumble the remaining buttons undone one handed anyway. Even with his one hand and that stupid replacement he’d probably struggle. Strong yes, nimble definitely not. He stretches out across her, letting more weight rest on her back and hears her half chocked off moan, reaches searching fingers down under the lip of the desk and pulls the folded knife from its hidden sheath.

He’ll buy her some new ones. 

He rocks back to stand upright and uses both hands to flick the knife open. He’s going to have to get a different style, one that opens with a flick of a wrist or click of a button or something. Hell, why not go the whole way and just get one implanted into this replacement thing. He’d have to do some training, get used to using his left as his primary weapon but it’s feasible. Maybe he could go all out and get wolverine style blades to retract and spring out as needed. That’d almost be cool… 

The unexpected kick to his knee brings his thoughts very definitely back to the present and the fact that one Melinda Qiaolian May is currently making a break for it. His hand no longer pinning her in place and his inattention have meant that she’s already squirmed half way across the desk, hands and knees both on its top as she moves up into a headstand on the opposite edge to flip and land lightly on her feet the other side. He takes a moment just to smile and watch her, marvelling at how she seemingly effortlessly moves her body in such gracefully deadly ways.

She turns and smirks back at him, challenge in every line of her body. He leans forwards on the desk between them as though he’s a secret to tell. She matches him, inch for inch.

He loves that about her.

She’s no intention of just lying there like a doll. Her own fire is just as hot. She’ll make him work for it. She’ll fight and challenge him every single step of the way.

She’s perfect. 

 

He moves his face in closer, flicks his eyes down to her lips in a glance he knows will not go unnoticed. He doesn’t intend for it to. Then she’s kissing him, fighting him on every front, tongues not teasing but battling for control, teeth catching at lips, the slight pain just spurring them on harder.

They’ll burn together.

 

X

 

May’s POV

His lips are devouring. All encompassing. So soft but so hard all at once, punishing and taking and oh God if she could exist in a moment then this would be the one. 

She’s supposed to remain aware of her surroundings. That’s the training for you. An attack can come at any time, in any form, from any person. She’s not aware in this moment of anything except his lips and teeth and tongue and ... the cold metal against her stomach is unmistakeable.

The leather-clad hand at the back of her neck no longer caressing but grabbing, restraining. 

She lets him take the lead on the kiss, sundering control at the additional threat, lets his tongue delve wheresoever he pleases, little whimpering moans escaping her throat as where he pleases turns out to be exactly where pleases her. He doesn’t kiss, he takes. He devours. He conquers.

And she... she whimpers. 

 

She shifts slightly so that she can balance her weight on her right alone. He doesn’t react to the movement, she wonders whether he’s even clocked it. She moans fully into his kiss, raises her left hand up between them unseen. Grabs for the knife, thumb and finger digging into pressure points that make his hand release despite his best intentions to keep hold. She swallows his surprised shout of pain, pushing forwards against his lips, her tongue fighting back until he accedes letting her into his mouth to taste, to explore.

The hard desk between them is a nuisance. She half wishes she’d not moved around this side but he deserved to have her escape, paying so little attention to restraining her.

She pulls back and he lets her break the kiss but holds her off balance still, hovering in place leaning over the desk. He has her neck in hand. She has the knife.

He raises an eyebrow. Questioning. Challenging.

She smirks at him. Like she knows the answer. 

 

Then she moves.

Launches herself, twisting to try to spin out of his grasp as he moves to counter her. She lashes out with the knife, high enough that he can see it coming, slow enough that he can easily block. He blocks but it means sacrificing his hold. She takes advantage of his release to dash away, but hardly makes it a step. 

 

The pull of a hand in her hair stops her immediately in place. 

She lashes out behind her with her left that is still holding his flick knife, not particularly at him but close enough that he’s forced to react, grabbing for her wrist whilst it's extended, squeezing until she drops the knife. Had this been any other 'attacker' she'd have cut at their hand, or her hair, forced them to give up the hold. This isn't worth that kind of drastic action. 

She likes his hand. 

She quite likes her hair. 

She very much likes the fact that the two of them are currently combined in his attempt to control her. She breathes the feeling in deeply, pulls slightly against his grasp, enjoys the way sparks of pleasure-pain shoot directly down to her clit, revels in his power over her.

 

“Back,” he simply instructs, steadily increasing the pressure until she decides to concede this one small point and takes a hasty step back towards him to lessen the pain to a pleasurable level. Oh yeah, she loves it when he manhandles her this way, forces her movements with his own body, gives her no real choice but to comply with his demands.

He continues pulling even when she bumps against the edge of his desk and she knows what he wants but she can’t help herself when she strains a little against his hold, forcing him to up the ante, to pull a little harder, to _make_ her concede.

The shout breaks from her mouth without her permission as she’s dragged backwards by an unexpectedly harsh pull, her upper body falling back wholly off balance as she concedes almost immediately to move with the unspoken demand. Her stomach muscles clench, her free hand flung backwards trying to stop her from crashing into the desk with the momentum. She still lands heavily, the ache in her hair pulsing in time with the ache between her thighs that clench tightly trying to ease the throbbing.

The strewn pads and pencils dig in sharply in various places but it’s not her top concern as his hand re-secures itself around her neck and he looks down from above her with a satisfied smirk that almost immediately re-sets her blood to boiling. If she knows anything about Philip Coulson then it's intended to do so, specifically calculated to get rise from her, and yes, she knows a lot about Philip J Coulson.

She glares.

The blade is lost in the movement or she’d throw it up at his smug face just to make him flinch and wipe away that grin.

“Hair pulling, really?” she snarls.

“Isn’t it you who always says you take advantage of every opportunity?” he counters. It is. It makes her more determined not to give him an easy ride. She doesn’t want reason, she wants passion. She shouldn’t have spoken and ruined the mood with words.

“Get on with it then,” she throws out, hoping to tempt him into more action than words.

He smiles down at her almost gently as his hand brushes back the dark hair that’s fallen across her eyes in their scuffle. She makes a snap of teeth in the air at him. 

She doesn’t want gentle.

He still ignores her. It’s both frustrating and adding to her already heightened arousal. He’s in control here. He’ll do as he pleases irrespective of her wants or her threats. She turns her face to the side, looks away from him unwilling to let him see just how much his control is getting to her.

He finishes up brushing her hair back, trails fingers through the strands to the back of her neck. Then he twists a grasp that causes her to clamp down hard, pussy clenching disappointingly empty. She swallows back most of the groan that wants to erupt as he lets his robotic hand up off where it was pressed down upon her throat. It’s a change of grip, a change of hands, of priorities maybe. It still doesn’t give her much leeway to make a concerted escape attempt. Not if she wants to keep her hair attached to her skull at any rate.

She’s still both hands free however. That’s a bonus.

She can do something with that.

Just as soon as her brain reengages so that she can figure out wha- Oh. Yeah. That’ll work.

 

X

 

Phil’s POV

She’s beautiful like this, spread out before him across his desk like a sacrifice to the Gods. Vulnerable looking in a way he knows she is most definitely not. She’s the leopardess at rest, relaxed and stunning to watch, majestic serenity only moments from violence. She’s never vulnerable. Not really. 

Her eyes flick up to meet his and he knows immediately that there’s mischief lurking there. He should be worried. The leopardess wants to play. He swallows quickly against a suddenly dry mouth, tenses, poised, waiting for the attack.

Her hands move, but not as expected, not in attack.

Her hands move to her breasts, index fingers running a quick trail around each in a synchronised move that he knows she’ll have done before, that somehow only makes it so much hotter.

“What are you doing, Melinda?” he asks despite the fact that it is more than obvious what she’s doing.

“You don’t want to make me cum then I’ll do it myself. It’s hardly like it’s the first time a guy has let me down in that department,” she says and he knows it’s a deliberate attempt to get a rise from him, to goad him into action, into fucking her and letting her cum. She’s never left his bed unsatisfied.

Still he’s happy enough to see where she takes this. He’s more than happy to watch as she touches herself. To watch as her hands trail patterns across her body, soothing and stroking skin that he knows is just so soft to the touch. She doesn’t hesitate to cause herself a little pain, pinching down on her hardened nipples without warning, just enough to intensify the pleasure, making herself jump and then writhe as she kneads and soothes away the hurt with a drawn out groan of base need.

He has to force himself not to touch, not to interrupt, not to reach out and disturb the tense line of her body no matter how much he wants to feel her beneath his hands. She’s so glorious, so beautiful in her unquenched desire.

He gulps audibly when she reaches her right hand down between her thighs, her left still tugging at a nipple, less playfully now, more wanton, needing the pressure, the pull to hurt just that little bit as she winds herself up towards climax. She doesn’t bother to play over her jeans to torment him with the sight, she’s obviously too far gone for that. Her fingers slide immediately down below her half-undone jeans, down below her panties so that she can touch immediately, flesh upon moist flesh. He knows the instant she pushes a finger inside herself, her exhale long and low as her body freezes for a moment in time. 

That she opens her eyes to look up at him, re-confirming that this show is all for his benefit, almost rocks him from his pillar of restraint. She’s so beautiful, so wanton, so naughty, such a challenge. He leans over her to kiss her upside down simply because he can’t resist touching her somehow, but he only gives in to the need briefly, drawing away as she opens to him, keeping away despite the disappointment that flashes clear as day across her face. “Keep going,” he encourages, allowing his replacement hand to stroke its fingers lightly over her throat as she swallows. He can’t be blamed for his lack of control over something that’s not really him after all can he?

Her eyes flutter back closed again, a slight hiccup to her breath as he knows she adds a second finger concealed down below where his gaze cannot penetrate. He watches transfixed by her beauty, by the way her hips move instinctively rocking against her hand. He watches as she teases herself lightly, pushing her body harder, faster, further than he has so far.

He watches, waits, until he knows she’s close, until she’s freezing between thrusts, shaking lightly before continuing, driving herself up higher. He waits until he can’t risk waiting any longer, until she’s so strung out, keening almost constantly under her breath as she’s almost there.

“Stop,” he says, knowing that she’s unlikely to hear him, knowing that even if she does she’s not going to comply. Then he reaches down, unseen by her, his replacement hand clasping hard around her wrist as his other pulls hard in her hair. “Stop,” he orders more firmly as he holds her strung out in place, unable to move forwards, unwilling to give up. 

 

Melinda’s POV

His eyes burn into her, desire flaring, overwhelming. “Stop,” he whispers and she will just as soon as she gets-

“Stop,” he commands more firmly, his hand clamping down harsh around her wrist, forcing her hips down to the desk with her hand, preventing her from moving her fingers or hips. His other hand pulls hard in her hair, the pain forcing her to pay attention, making her take him more seriously. After a second’s hesitation, just long enough for her to consider whether it’s worth fighting to continue further – he’d hardly kill her for it after all, after that second... and maybe the next because she is just so... damn... close... and if she can just find a way to force herself that last… little… bit…

After those few seconds... maybe a minute… she concedes, pulling her hand from between her thighs and flinging it outward away from her body to lie stretched out across the desk in compliance as she collapses her head to the side away in exhausted frustration and just breathes.

“That’s three,” his slightly choked voice announces and if she’d the energy then she’d hit him for it.

 

x


	7. Living Dangerously

Chapter 6 – Living Dangerously

 

Phil’s POV

He can’t work out how best to get the pants off her. That’s still the bloody problem of the moment, hell it’s the fucking problem of the hour! She’s only waiting for him to slip up slightly and she’ll take the chance to escape, to fight him once again. Now he can't deny that he loves fighting her. Loves bringing her down. Capturing her. Pinning her squirming little body beneath him and making her concede... 

Ahhh. Yep, loves it.

When he's not actually trying to punish her and make a point. When she's not actually trying to resist his every attempt - actually biting him!? - and drive him crazy!

Immediate problem - he can’t reach that far across the desk with the one hand, would take the risk of getting bitten (again) or kicked in the head anyway if he did so. 

His eyes scan the room for something that could help, anything damn it. He’s momentarily distracted by her hand, flung out across his desk in surrender but still very clearly glistening with her juices. That’s a temptation that cannot be denied. He keeps her in place as he pulls his left arm across to bring her fingers to his lips, suckling and teasing at them. He smiles around them at the needy groan that leaves her lips, her thighs clenching quickly together as she writhes seeking some form of friction to take her that last step into blissful oblivion. The taste of her on his lips is one of which he never gets bored. He could enjoy her all day. The only thing better than sucking the taste of one Melinda May from her fingers ... is enjoying it from the source... accompanied by her squeals and screams.

Actually... that’s a bloody good plan.

It just happens to have the same shitty flaw that his previous plans have had – her jeans are still in the fucking way! Or in the way of the fucking... either phrase works fine. Either way of phrasing it annoys the hell out of him! 

“Sit up,” he instructs simply and her pleasure lidded eyes flick up to meet his in question – they’re fighting here, does he actually expect her co-operation? No, he doesn’t. The leopard doesn’t just let anyone command her attention. He waits for a few heartbeats to see whether she’ll comply anyway. He enjoys watching her. He watches as she hesitates, possibly considering an early surrender. He lets the weight of his stare settle at her eyes, lets the tension ratchet upwards between them. He clocks when her tongue darts out to wet slightly parted lips. He sees as her breath quickens almost imperceptibly. The only clues she’ll give him. They’re more than sufficient.

“Okay then,” he commends mildly after a few moments. There’s a sweep of his arm across the top of her that makes her flinch but he doesn’t make contact. He watches her face as she watches half in horror as his arm does make contact with the desk lamp, computer screen and the pile of files that have been sitting waiting for his attention for probably far too long. There’s shock, possibly fear as they’re sent scattering off the edge to land in a cascade of broken sounding crashes. When her eyes flicker back to his face all he sees are her pupils blown wide with arousal.

He doesn’t waste time letting that moment settle – he wants her to remain on edge - dragging her with one hand on her upper arm, the other still secure in her hair, across to the newly cleared side and heaving her up into a sitting position on the edge of the desk so that he can walk around gaining easy access to the drawers whilst keeping her prisoner. Second drawer he tries has what he was missing – a tie. He smirks, she might claim he doesn’t need one but he never feels quite himself without one. 

She fights against him almost immediately – her hands coming up to strike out at his chest, forcing him to let go of the hand in her hair to step back away in retreat to protect himself. She slides off the desk to stand in the gap. He grabs for one of her hands as it makes contact, capturing her wrist and blessing the additional strength his replacement can bring to bear to keep her in place. He grabs for the other before it can land another blow and eventually succeeds in capturing that as well, pulling the two together to hold them imprisoned in his one larger replacement hand. She tries for a knee at him as he reclaims the tie and he sidesteps it only at the last minute, taking a glancing blow. 

The adrenaline only increases his desire to have her.

He shoves her backwards hard, hard enough that the desk screeches across the floor a few inches with the force as she’s rammed into it. He uses her captured hands against her stomach to push her over backwards, forcing her up the desk until only her legs hang over the end, clambering up after her until he’s astride her and wrestling her arms up into the air between them. 

She tries to contort her body to throw him a few times. 

He smirks when it’s ineffective. 

She tries to raise her legs up to catch him, grab his neck and drag him over backwards. 

He simply shuffles down a little more, sits his weight atop her more securely. 

He watches as she thinks things through, sees the understanding dawning that she’s powerless in this position if she can’t reclaim her arms. 

She pulls against his robotic hand with increasingly more violence, attempting a desperate escape. 

She’s no chance. 

His grasp is absolute. He’s actually kinda growing to like this thing. He tightens his grasp purely because it makes her eyes flash up to his dramatically. He feels the light shudder than runs through her body beneath him at the realisation that she’s captured. 

He bends down close and takes a second just to inhale her scent, enjoy the sight of her struggling spread out beneath him, to truly appreciate having captured so amazing a woman. So beautiful. So wild.

“Surrender?” he chances asking with a smirk.

Her frosty glare is both exactly what he was expecting and exactly what he was hoping for.

He reclaims the tie from under her right thigh, wraps it securely around both her wrists, looping, knotting, using teeth to tighten it when one hand is simply not enough to do so sufficiently to keep a wild Melinda May prisoner. He casts his eyes about the room and bemoans the lack of secure points that he can tie her to in this office – it’s something that he’ll have to correct if she stays. The momentary doubt of that ‘if’ hits him like a bullet to the gut. Staggeringly painful for a thought alone. It makes him all the more pissed at her for staying away all this time, for doing this to him, for doing this to _them._

He spots the knife over her shoulder. It only takes him a split second to make the call, forcing her bound hands up over her head to stretch her body out to his view, scooping up the knife and driving it down with all his strength...

 

... between her clenched fists, through the tie and deep into the wood beneath.

Her gasp as he does so is gratifying – it did look as impressive as it felt then. 

 

It’s not the first time he’s carved into this desk. This notch he’ll probably leave in place, a more than pleasant reminder. Maybe he’ll even perch on the edge as they hold briefings so that he can just reach down a hand, trail the mark with his fingers and watch as she realises what he’s really thinking about... watch as her eyes blow wide, as she struggles to keep her breath even and show no outward signs of how wet she’s becoming just at the thought of him tying her across his desk and taking. 

No. No day dreaming about future encounters when one Melinda May is currently tied, spread out and almost naked beneath him. 

He sits back up, letting his hand come up off her wrists. He watches with a smile as she tests out the restraint. He’s the cat now. He watches as his prey fights to escape. He enjoys the moment of realisation that she’s hopelessly bound, that he’s won and that her very survival depends upon his mercy. 

 

She’s trapped, tied. That she’d never let another catch her so, never let another keep her vulnerable and exposed, that she’s for his pleasure alone is more arousing than he can comprehend. She’s all his. 

He lets his eyes roam from her flushed face and slightly glassy looking eyes, down her heaving chest, pert breasts rising topped with dusky pebbled nipples, down sculpted abs that he can’t wait to feel under his lips, to trace with his tongue and then work his way down further... 

All his to enjoy.

 

 

x

 

He indulges in a kiss first, the temptation of her slightly swollen lips too much to be denied, especially as a teasing tongue darts out quickly to wet them as he leans in close. 

He brushes his lips against hers quickly, softly, testing whether she’s going to try to bite… seeing how pissed at him she remains, whether her desire overwhelms her frustration at him denying her so many times. She snaps at him as he draws back out of range after the first brush, but its timed precisely so that he’s already on the retreat when she threatens him so – he’s no doubt that she’d have bitten him if she intended to, if she wanted to do so. She wants to be kissed. He smiles as he ducks back down again, biting down gently at her bottom lip, not enough to hurt just enough to hold as he pulls back slightly, forcing her to stretch up towards him just to prove a point.

He loves this woman, this wild hellcat of a woman. If he can pin her down long enough then it’s going to be one hell of a ride. If he can’t then she’ll eat him alive. He loves the challenge. Almost as much as he loves the rewards.

Then he kisses her properly, nibbling and teasing at her lips when she won’t grant him entrance. Silly kitten. His hand pinching at a swiftly found nipple soon sorts out that little defiance, diving down hard on her gasp, tongue forcing it’s way inside to tangle with her own hastily raised defence. 

He sits up slightly, raising himself above her on his elbows so that he can get two hands to her breasts, giving him the ultimate advantage over her as he pulls and rolls and teases until she’s surrendering to the pleasure as he kisses her breathless, a deep moan reverberating in her throat so that he can almost imagine she’s purring beneath him. His leopardess finally tamed and purring at his touch.

No, not tamed. Never that.

“Good kitty,” he says partially to rile her, to watch her unfurl her claws, as he forces himself to lift away from the temptation of her kiss-swollen lips. He backs up quickly when she snaps at him for real, moving until he’s a safe enough distance from those once again dangerous teeth. He stands against the desk between her legs, hands resting lightly on the tense muscles of her thighs and grins as she glares across at him. 

“Say that again,” she growls lowly, pulling sharply against the tie on her arms as though intending to tear herself free and hurt him for the comment. He’s intelligence enough to know that this is not a demand for him to repeat himself, it’s a dare, a threat of recompense of the painful kind if he does so.

 

He smiles back at her threat - her bite is oh so much worse than her bark now she’s tied and defenceless. She’s stripped half naked, captured and bound to _his_ desk with _his_ tie, completely defenceless, wholly subject to his will, and she’s challenging him still. She is never cowed. He loves that about her. She doesn’t even appear to notice that she’s bound though he knows by now her wrists will be sore from all of her pulling against them in frustration. He knows that the tie will hold her in place without causing too much damage no matter how she fights the bindings.

 

… it doesn’t mean he’s stupid enough to repeat himself. 

 

“Good..." 

"Little..." 

"Kitty.”

Well… maybe it does. He smirks at her glare. Faint heart never won fair maiden’s hand and all that. Certainly if he backs off he’ll lose the progress he’s already made overpowering her desire to fight him for control. He’ll see this through to the end. 

He’s always liked living a little dangerously. 

 

He doesn’t waste time letting the moment settle or giving her a chance to fight any more than the growls of frustrated writhing as she attempts to yank her hands free of the tie that binds her. His tie. Binding her down to his desk. His blood stirs at that, the repeating thought alone never mind the image of it actually in the flesh almost enough to make him embarrass himself.

He pushes again for the startling, to distract himself from his thoughts and drive her back on edge, to break her fury, bring her attention back to the here and now, to his power and his dominance – grabbing at the hanging sides of her shirt only to tear it from her, delighting in the wide eyes that lock to his in surprise and the whimper that forces its way past her lips at the sudden pain of the fabric ripping across her back and from her arms. He loves it when she whimpers for him.

He steps back only the minimum amount he needs to grab for the legs of her jeans, yanking them down forcibly as she rises up as far as the bindings will allow, squealing at the sudden constriction as they’re forced over her hips still partially fastened. He’s no time to be messing with buttons. He needs to have her, needs to possess her now.

He tears the soaking underwear from her body simply because he can, delighting in her breathy moan at the action and wondering idly if he should include these things as positive points when he submits his review of this mark 3 to Fitz - excellent for holding Melinda May captive, above average for driving knives into desks to tie the aforesaid Melinda May to, practically perfect for the reaction gained when tearing off Melinda May’s underwear with unexpected violence. Poor guy’d probably have a coronary. 

 

Actually… if he’s going to give a report on this mark then he should really run a few more tests… just to be thorough of course and if the tests just happen to drive Melinda wild then that’s just an added bonus really isn’t it? She needs some time to calm down anyway, he thinks smugly.

“Ready to come?” he enquires amicably, pushing her buttons a little further knowing that there is no way in hell she’s going to admit defeat just after he’s denied her what was likely to be another truly spectacular climax following all of the build-up between them.

Her low growl would be terrifying if he were anyone else but he doesn't terrify easy.

"I'm ready to leave again," she spits.

And that terrifies him to the core. 

x


	8. Sorry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys - uploaded the wrong version. It has now been deleted. 
> 
> So, here's a little bit of the next chapter in apology ;)

Chapter 7 - Sorry?

 

_"“Ready to come?” he enquires amicably, pushing her buttons a little further knowing that there is no way in hell she’s going to admit defeat just after he’s denied her what was likely to be another truly spectacular climax following all of the build-up between them._

_Her low growl would be terrifying if he were anyone else but he doesn't terrify easy._

_"I'm ready to leave again," she spits._

_And that terrifies him to the core."_

 

Melinda's POV

He's on top of her before she can blink. 

Furious.

Dangerous.

A small part of her finds it thrilling. A much larger part warns her to tread carefully with what she says next. Phil Coulson potentially out of control could be a very dangerous thing. She daren't look way from his eyes, knows her own have widened in fear to match the pulse roaring through her ears. Her heart rate has tripled but she barely dares to breathe.

His eyes flick down, tracking when she swallows nervously, flick up to catch the tongue that slips quickly across her bottom lip. "Nervous, Melinda?" he whispers, lowering his head out of sight over her shoulder, more threatening than if he'd shouted. His breath ghosts over her collarbone drawing a shiver from her body trapped pressed firmly down in to the hard desk beneath him. "Oh yes," he croons gently as though she's some skittish horse about to flee - as if she's any choice to do so! 

"Ahhh!" She jumps at the feel of his teeth upon her collar bone and curses herself mentally for the reaction when his deep chuckle reaches her ears. There's no humour in his low laugh, just the smug arrogance of a man who knows he's well and truly got the upper hand.

"You're right to be nervous, Melinda," he breathes hotly, hovering over where her shoulder meets her neck. 

"Every stupid thing you say makes me want to beat some sense in to you," he continues but oh the softly said words could be a crooning lovers caress for the effect they have upon her body. "But I promised a long while ago that I would never hurt you in anger." It's true. Back when they'd first tentatively tiptoed into a scene together, when everything had been so new, so unsure. A time when they barely knew one another, when she'd been hesitant at his silent request for her trust.

He scrapes his teeth lightly over the sensitive spot right... oh!... there. Sets his teeth down against her skin. Digs them in to her skin. Holds. Threatening on a primal level. 

She freezes in place. 

Holds her breath.

Waits.

For him to decide if he's going to bite down or let her go free.

She locks her muscles in place to prevent the tremor that starts deep inside her from erupting.

Swallows back the mewling whimper that wants to tell him of her sudden fear in the hopes he might show mercy.

Waits.

Silent and still.

Tense.

Waiting.

 

Until he allows the skin to unfurl, a slow drag of teeth scratching lightly as he rises without biting down. She inhales all of the breath she should have taken in one rapid gasp as he releases her. The pressure letting off as the threat backs away. She blinks. Swallows. Attempts to re-group.

"Changed my mind," he says but his words don't really register over the pain that takes hold over her thoughts - his hand in her hair wrenches her head back until her neck is arched, exposed beneath teeth that bite down without hesitation. Without mercy. She hears herself scream, chokes it off quickly, and whimpers anew when his tongue laves the hurt he's inflicted. Stinging and soothing with gentle presses. Hot breath and wet tongue tracing over and around the mark of his fury. His mark.

She groans at the thought and whimpers again when his tongue catches and sparks of pain trickle over into pleasure, the multitude of sensations, of endorphins and adrenaline combine in to a swirling mass of confusion that simply reminds her that she hasn't yet orgasmed... and it all hits her suddenly like one mass tidal wave taken her from sandy beaches to drowning in waves of pleasure unable to reach the bottom, to find land to stand. An effort to even hold her head above water to try to reason, to make sense of the words he continues speaking despite her lack of verbal response.

"Once you apologise," his words filter through but she's nothing to apologise for.

"No." She's sure only from his stunned expression that the word makes it out of her mind, through the water making her groggy up to the surface and out of her mouth towards his ears.

 

 

x


	9. Not Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His nimble fingers pop the button on a cuff, drawing her eyes like a magnet to his wrist. Competent fingers swiftly folding over the still white cuff. Rolling it over to expose more of a strong arm. Oh god! Those arms. Is there such a thing as arm porn? If there is, it's so her kink! She's always loved his arms. How they hold her, so strong, so unyielding. What they could do to her, have done to her, could do to her again. Another slow fold - a strip tease too surreal and yet all the more effective for how little he offers to reveal. It makes her breath catch. Her heart race. She licks at suddenly dry lips as he takes his time rolling up just that one sleeve._

Chapter 8 - Not Sorry

 

She's not sorry. 

That's the only issue of import right here and now.

She strains to convince her traitorous mind of that thought even as it rebels against her control. Her mind says she should just do whatever he wants - beg, apologise, submit, anything, hell _everything_ that he wants. Her body begs her to give in. To say fuck the consequences and take this dangerous man as far as he'll go with her. 

If she begged him to fuck her he probably would.

Even a beating sounds right about now. His hand striking down upon her upturned ass in a painful smattering of pleasure that might just be enough to send her soaring over the edge. She’s ready, oh she’s SO ready. She feels like she’s been fluttering on the precipice for hours. Tension coiled low in her belly almost unbearable as he continues to tease and torment her mercilessly. And when he ups the ante, threatens, releases that dangerous side for her to see and touch and all she wants to do submit and quiver beneath him.

But she can't. And damn it if that doesn't drive her almost to insanity!

She can't apologise if she's not sorry. She can't beg for him to punish her when she's no intention of seeking his forgiveness. It goes directly to the heart of everything - honesty, trust. It's everything.

Out there, in the real world, their jobs, their very lives might require that they lie and conceal and plan to deceive. But in here, in private like this, where they can just be Phil and Melinda, Dominant and sometimes bratty submissive, they have to have trust. She can't betray that by giving an apology she doesn't mean or asking for a punishment she doesn't deserve.

Oh she understands his reasoning - she left him, hooked up with Hunter, pursued Ward. All of those decisions he quite clearly disagrees with.

Well tough.

He doesn't get to punish her just because he's not happy with her decisions. He doesn't own her. He doesn't get to place those demands upon her life. 

He doesn't get to control her anywhere but the bedroom. 

Or his office... 

A few out of the way storage lockers... 

The cockpit of her plane... 

Okay so anywhere that takes his fancy really. 

Point being... he doesn't get to control her life. Just the sex life portion of it. And she's rapidly reconsidering whether even that is a good decision given that it's giving him ideas of grandeur!

 

x

 

"No," she repeats stronger. Firmer. Starting to get a grip over her body and her thoughts.

"Melinda..." he begins his tone placating, reasonable in a manner that does not match the sheer power of his expression, the warning as his eyes bore in to her own. "I'll caution you to consider... very carefully... your words to me right now."

"No, Phil. I'm not apologising," she confirms simply and then watches in half horror as he moves swiftly off the desk and away.

"Oh you'll apologise... and then you'll beg for mercy," he repeats in that oh so smugly confident voice that makes her want to hit him. Or to fuck him. She's never entirely sure which. 

Maybe both?

Strike him, knock him down, straddle those broad hips, pin him in place and ride that magnificent cock until they're both screaming. And again. And again. Until she's no more energy to move. Until he flips them, pins her in return, pounds in to her mercilessly. Ceaselessly. Until she's no more than a puddle of goo without thought.

She inhales raggedly. Tries to bring her thoughts back from where they've wandered.

 

x

 

"Apologise, Melinda," his hardened voice demands from suddenly too close and oh the things that voice does to her body. The things that man does to her body. A shiver trembles down her spine and she can feel his chuckle through her body as he clocks he reaction. Damn the man. 

"Apologise," he demands forcefully and her insides turn to jelly, quivering at the implicit threat as he lowers his face to breathe the words across her throat. A primal threat that has her poised. Waiting. Shivering at the thought that he might bite down once more. Hurt her. Mark her. Claim her.

And oh! His teeth bite lightly at her skin, teasing, nipping a trembling trail across her throat as she exposes more to him in silent surrender. So gentle. The contradiction within him switching seamlessly between harsh and demanding and this calm gentle teasing. It leaves her head reeling. Spinning. Unable to keep up. 

His finger catches her cheek, redirects her gaze back up to his eyes. Such wonderfully full eyes. So many emotions swimming in those depths. His expression resolves in to a gentle seeming smile. Caring. The quirk of his right eyebrow before he advises in a falsely concerned voice, "if you want me to fuck you first then I recommend begging..."

And argh! Just that fast his face morphs back to smug and she's flipped back to hating him! She tosses her head to lose his touch and snaps at his fingers when he doesn't retreat quickly enough.

"Vicious kitten!" he proclaims but it's not a complaint from his tone. It's a compliment half-awed.

She growls at the pet name - she is no one's kitten! - but he simply laughs and continues trying to pet her hair as she fights against the bindings holding her wrists trapped in place and her defence of snapping teeth woefully ineffective at deterring him from his attempts.

"You know... you're cute when you're angry," he smiles after succeeding in prodding her nose, much to her utter disgust. He's seemingly unperturbed by her glare or snapping teeth. She’s made grown men cry with less of a glare. It’s unfortunate that he’s always been immune. She lets her head thud back against the wooden desk, rolls her eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to ignore him, to control herself, to not break free and bite somewhere infinitely sensitive upon his body. 

Repeatedly.

He kisses her sweat beaded forehead. Condescending bastard.

"I'm about to get fucking adorable!" she snaps back and as he laughs at her she finally catches the edge of his hand between her teeth and bites down in retaliation. Hard.

 

x

 

"FUCK!" he shouts withdrawing back away from her with additional oaths as he rubs at his hand. 

He so rarely swears that she can't help smiling at his reaction. Well, that and the fact that he'd nearly wobbled back off the desk. Sophisticated Dom that he is tumbling off the desk would certainly be a laughing matter!

She almost laughs just at the thought of it but then his eyes turn back from his cradled hand to her. A menacing gaze that makes her breath hitch, her body freeze in place beneath those unwavering orbs. She stares back at him, barely daring to breathe.

A steady trickle of panic starts to churn within as he says nothing. Does nothing. Everything about him says he's furious. There's no give in the body that sits leaning half over her. Rigid. Hard. Completely uncompromising.

It comes to her that she should not have bitten him.

Again.

"I-" she starts but the words of apology stick in her throat and she's forced to swallow before trying again.

"I'm sorry."

If anything that makes his expression harden. His eyes narrow as they glare in to her own and she winces before being unable to hold his stare any longer and looking quickly away. She can feel her body quake lightly beneath him and knows he won't miss so obvious a reaction.

Absolute control. That's all she can think every time she looks at him. Absolute control. Over himself and everything around him. She should know better than to challenge him.

Especially when she's so vulnerable. When she's tied so tightly. When he actually can do anything he wants with her. To her.

_Oh god!_

"You're 'sorry'?" he questions rhetorically, his voice like ice.

"Yes, Phil, I-"

His scoff of disbelief interrupts her explanations just as his fingers capture her chin in his grasp, fingers digging in to her skin painfully until she's forced to look up at him. Nothing escapes those piercing eyes. So cold. Empty as a starless night. Twice as terrifying. "Sorry for biting me?" he questions tonelessly.

"Yes, I-" he cuts off her words with a shake that rattles her thoughts and nearly makes her bite her tongue for real.

"But not sorry for leaving? Or for lying to me? For chasing after Ward? Risking your LIFE?!" He's shouting by the end of it, his fingers digging white trails in to her skin until he realises and tosses her head away from him. He walks away from her and she's every reason to believe that this is it - that he's so furious now with her fighting and arguing and just being so god damned difficult every time despite the heart of her wanting to submit that he's had enough.

He takes two steps away from her before she closes her eyes, unwilling to watch him leave. She should never have come back.

"Phil- "

"You're in enough trouble. I suggest you don't speak again until you're ready to apologise," he says and she doesn't know whether to sob in relief that he's not abandoning her ... or in fear. It doesn't mean she's any more need to apologise - he does not rule her life. He does not get to say where she goes or what she tells him. He has no say in the decisions she makes for sound tactical reasons. Ward needed taking out. She needed to help. He doesn't get to demand that control over her life!

"That's not fair, I-"

"Be silent," he hisses quietly but it's his eyes settling upon her like black fire that makes her tongue freeze in her mouth, chills her inside and out. 

"You'll apologise," he says with absolute certainty. Certainty and determination that can only bode ill for her if she intends to stand against him. He always gets his way eventually.

"You're going to be very sorry before we've finished." 

 

x

 

He steps back away, leaving her completely bereft of his touch, and she's forced to bite her lip to swallow back the pleas that want to erupt to beg him not to leave her like this.

His nimble fingers pop the button on a cuff, drawing her eyes like a magnet to his wrist. Competent fingers swiftly folding over the still white cuff. Rolling it over to expose more of a strong arm. Oh god! Those arms. Is there such a thing as arm porn? If there is, it's so her kink! She's always loved his arms. How they hold her, so strong, so unyielding. What they could do to her, have done to her, could do to her again. Another slow fold - a strip tease too surreal and yet all the more effective for how little he offers to reveal. It makes her breath catch. Her heart race. She licks at suddenly dry lips as he takes his time rolling up just that one sleeve. 

Four folds exactly. Always so exact. Concentrating on every little detail. It's when he turns the force of that focus on her that her stomach twines, her pulse takes over thrumming through her head, arousal flooding her out of her control. To be the sole subject of his focus... it's like nothing else matters.

He's so precise. So exacting. Demanding. So utterly competent. Unshakeable. He really can handle anything. 

Even her. 

 

He just stands there, watching her as she watches him. Silent. Intensely focused. Oh how she wants to break that focus. To end the torment of his steady hands revealing so little so slowly. To rip the shirt from his back. To nip and suck and gorge herself on the feast of what she knows lies beneath. She fights against the bindings on her wrists instinctively trying to reach him even as her brain tells her that she's no hope of escaping and her body tries to decide whether its happier bound defencelessly vulnerable beneath him or whether she really wants free so that she can finally touch him.

His eyes smirk at her attempts and she falters entirely as he strokes fingers over the top button of his shirt. Her mouth goes dry and his eyes zero in on her lips as her tongue darts out to wet them.

"Ask me to punish you," he demands simply enough and oh if only it was that easy for her to give in to so simple a demand but her head shakes in silent refusal. She can't.

His fingers undo two buttons despite her refusal, revealing a small triangle of tanned skin she needs to taste, a slight smattering of hair she can't wait to run her fingers through, to pull slightly if only to force him to react, to grab her hand, pin her down and punish her aptly for taking such liberties. 

Her breath stalls as his fingers hesitate at the third button. His eyes conveying his demand in no uncertain terms. Her head shakes for her even as her body pleads with him to continue and more.

"Stunned in to silence by my incredible good looks?" he mocks.

"Yes," she replies simply. Truthfully. Others may be fooled by the everyman look he assumes, she isn't. She knows what those more than capable arms can do. She knows how dangerous he really is. The thought of being at his mercy arouses her like nothing else.

"You're not getting out of this by playing nice," he cautions her as he closes the distance until he's standing beside her once again. Close enough to touch. Close enough to do all manner of things.

She pulls pointedly against the tie still binding her wrists. "I'm not getting out of this at all."

"Surrendering to the inevitable?" he enquires politely retrained as his fingers trail a chilling touch across her collarbone.

"Maybe," she manages to force out the word breathlessly.

"Then maybe it's time you gave me my apology."

She inhales deeply. Then sighs. He still doesn't understand any of this. "Phil..." she sighs again. "I don't owe you an apology for making decisions with my life."

"So, I don't get any say?"

"It's _my_ life."

"And I don't get a say in that?" he repeats the question.

"No."

"Oh you are going to regret saying that." He steps back in close to her. One hundred percent threat. One hundred percent promise.

 

x

 

A fresh surge of wetness floods her at the threat and she whimpers without meaning to. She clamps her thighs tightly together to try to disguise her body's reaction but she's never been able to hide anything from him and his fingers are far stronger than she as they force their way between her legs, up until they find her sopping wet folds, fingertips stroking firmly over sensitive nerves until her spine bowes, back arching up to try to grind her hips down against his strong fingers.

"Lovely," he praises as his fingers withdraw, slipping away to dance a teasingly wet trail across the top of her thigh solely to torment her further. "But whimpering is not an apology..." She manages a half hearted glare as her body flops bonelessly back down atop the hard desk. She watches as he raises his fingers to his lips, smiles at her before sucking them inside that hot wet mouth. His low groan reverberates throughout her body and her moan echoes his own at the thought of those lips, of that oh so talented tongue and what he might do next.

 

x

 

He pushes his finger in to her, hard and fast.

"F-Fuck!" The still sensitive nerves inside her flared to life in shock. Body arching up against him as she tightens around his finger. A sharp stab of need sizzling like lightning, dangerous and impossible to ignore.

Tension coils deep inside her as he moves, sliding his finger in and out. Over and again. The slight pain from her palms tells of how her hands have fisted tightly in an attempt at control, short fingernails digging viciously in to her palms as he continues his assault on her senses.

All of her senses consolidate to focus upon that single finger inside her. Moving. Deeper, firmer, oh so much better. She hears as he moves up her body to lay half on his side, half over her so as not to crush her. His lips find hers, kisses her deeply, possesses her mouth, swallows her moans. 

Swallows her gasp as he quickly inserts a second finger, thrusting them lightly as she cants her hips in invite, squirming in an attempt to move closer, to draw him in deeper. He crooks his fingers inside her catching that gloriously perfect spot that makes her see starts as his thumb unerringly finds her clit, stroking teasingly around it for a mere moment before backing away from their kiss.

Her thoughts are swept away, lost in a mind wipe of pleasure. His thumb catches the edge of her clit. Drawing a half mewl of pleasure from between her teeth. Deliberate. Planned. Every touch plotted, every reaction categorised, a tactical attack on all fronts designed to wear down any resistance she could possibly hope of raising. He strikes again, rubbing firmly deep, deep inside. Every move playing the nerves of her body against her. Sending her higher and higher.

He stops.

She almost cries.

Then he starts up again, driving in to her forcefully now. No pretence at gentle. Just taking. Plundering. Her thighs tremble at the effort of holding in place beneath him. On every other thrust he presses against her g-spot, a targeted strike that leaves her shivering in place to try to keep from writhing, bucking against him. His thumb unerringly rubbing against her clit on every stroke. Left then right. Until he's got her senses so confuddled she doesn't know which way is up or why she's even supposed to be fighting him.

Another deep plunge, another fierce strike and her muscles are stiffening, trembling, holding. Balanced on the fine edge of a knife she knows he might let cut her. Pleasure singes her nerves, whites out her brain, she's so... damn... close...

Between one beat and the next his hands disappear.

A strangled cry escapes her along with the tears that leak from the corners of her eyes. His finger catches a drop, rubs soothingly at the trail it's left upon her cheek.

"Almost," his voice intrudes in to her despairing thoughts as her body tries to wind itself down.

She cries out anew at the thrust of what can only be three of his beautifully thick fingers force themselves up inside of her without warning. Pleasure with the fine edge of pain almost sending her over. She clamps down hard upon his fingers trying frantically to get enough pressure to throw herself over that last hurdle to climax into oblivion irrespective of his wants and intended torments. But it's not enough. Not when he won't let her. She bucks her hips up to meet his thrusts seeking to force the issue. Seeking more. More. More. His forearm pins her immediately back down to the hard desk beneath her. Subdued within seconds as though he's just been waiting on her attempt.

"Admit I get a say and maybe I'll let you come before I punish you," his soft voice promises, the tongue of the devil beguiling her mind with whispered words that promise a moment heaven but demands her very soul in return.

She could scream out in frustration! Cry at the unfairness of it all!

He starts up again and she strives to flinch away, to escape his hands and the pleasure they continue to cause because despite how much her body wants it her mind can't stand it anymore.

"No!" she shouts out on a scream on frustrated pleasure as his fingers pierce into her again, driving deep, insistently forcing her body to give way before them as they force their way beyond clenching tissues. Until she's sure she'll go insane from all the pleasure. No human body could survive this much torment intact. "Please!" she begs and he hesitates. 

His fingers stopping in place, thumb hovering over her clit in threat or promise, she's unsure whether it even matters which. Her brain rushes to catch up, strive to toss aside the fog of pleasure that blankets her thoughts and attempt to prepare a rational argument that he might understand.

"Apologise, Melinda," his voice commands - for it is a command no matter how softly he might speak the words in the silent void left behind her shout.

Her head shakes for her because she can't force the words against his orders.

"Are you actually planning to let me drive you insane rather than admit you were wrong?" he asks and she can hear the confusion in his tone.

"Not wrong," she manages to force out between clenched teeth even as he pulls his fingers out from inside her sending zings of pleasure to add to the swirling mass already coiling a maelstrom inside of her.

"Wrong answer," he snaps and a frisson of fear runs a tremor down her spine at the unconcealed anger in his voice. 

 

x


	10. The Upper Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Melinda to get the upper hand - momentarily...

Chapter 9 - The Upper Hand

 

"Bastard!" she huffs out in exhausted defeat as he stops - yet again!

"Now, now, Melinda. There's no need for name calling," he mocks her fingers gently sliding through slick folds - far too gently the damn tease!

"No need?! I'll show you no NE-he-he-heeeeed," she tries to say but the reintroduction of his fingers inside her so suddenly force the half squeals out of her before she's any chance to finish her intended sentence. He smirks down at her - far too damn smug - as those delightfully thick fingers push and stroke and streeeeeetttch out inside of her until she's dancing on the edge of something wonderful if only he would give her just a little... bit.... more... 

She knows it's not going to happen even before he withdraws his fingers slowly out of her. She lets her head rock back against the hard desk with a dull thud and tries to ignore the overly obvious slurping sounds he makes to torment her further as he tastes her juices from his fingers. "Bastard," she concludes simply.

"My parents were married actually," he corrects her simply. Factually. Arrogant fucking git.

She shares that thought with him.

"Arrogant?" he muses, appearing to think it over even as he shifts to the side of her legs (disappointing), dropping them to fall bonelessly down until her toes can almost touch the floor (almost painfully disappointing), before he clambers up on the desk to half lie beside her (quite annoying if she's honest). She lets her eyes fall closed to try to block him out, to regain control of herself, to maybe prevent herself from begging him to go back down there and finish what he's damn well started! "Arrogant? I don't think I'm arrogant. I think I have a pretty accurate appreciation of my own talents," he says and she really doesn't care if he thinks he's arrogant or not - she just doesn't want to lie here tied across his desk naked discussing it!

"Groan at me in that tone of voice again and see what happens," he threatens in a low whisper so close to her ear that she can feel his breath sweeping over her skin. She tells herself that it's that brush of cool air that sends a shiver down her spine and heat to pool low in her stomach not the way he can make her body turn back flips with a few growled words or how quickly he shifts to threatening. To dangerous.

Her heart seems to be working double time whilst the rest of her body freezes instinctively. Some primal part of her keeps her eyes tightly closed so as not to see the danger coming... every part of her holds still... silent... barely breathing... until he laughs, breaking the tension and she's back to hating him again as her body tries to catch up on the breaths she should have taken!

"Fuckwit."

"Are you not feeling particularly imaginative, Melinda?" he taunts.

"Asshole."

"Or have I blown your mind?"

Scoffs. "Cocky."

"Confident."

"Overly so."

His hand moves, drawing her gaze insistently to where it might be going, to what he might touch, might do. Anticipation makes her heart beat faster, pulse thrumbing through her veins as heat coils deep within her. His hand sweeps upwards, skimming over her stomach as it arches up slightly, her body yearning towards him without conscious command. He raises it to avoid her breasts and she can't control the disappointed whine that escapes her at that manoeuvre. It's cut off shortly as his fingers grasp her chin, capturing her head and turning her to face him. Controlling her movement even in this small way sends further heat to coil down below. She finds her thighs clenching tightly together in an attempt to hide how much she wants to try to grind up against something, anything to relive the ache that seems to treble when his cocky eyes capture and hold her gaze, smouldering into her. She's powerless to resist as his face slowly nears, smirk daring her to try even as he holds her firmly entrapped, unable to escape as his lips press down upon her own in a soft kiss that steals her breath for all its gentleness after so much forceful passion before. She moans beneath him. Softens in acceptance and parts her lips in surrender, inviting him deeper to take his fill.

He kisses her slowly. Thoroughly. Until she's moaning under every breath, arching up under his oh so pleasurable assault to rub against his hard body. Until nothing else seems to matter. Only his lips. So soft and hard all at once soothing and demanding and teasing and _oh!_ until she's melting beneath him and doesn't even care!

"Just the right amount, I'd say," he says as he backs off leaving her panting breathlessly straining up to try to recapture his lips with her own. 

It takes her mind more than a moment to connect the words to the previous train of their conversation, but when it does eventually catch up she's feeling more than a little pissed at herself for how easily she succumbed to his trap and at him for laying out so obvious a manipulation. Even if he did prove his point. Damn arrogant bastard!

 

She pulls against the tie again, strives and writhes half hoping to escape, half hoping not.

"Think you can escape?" He challenges her to do so with his mocking tone and she fights harder. It's futile. She can't slip the bonds, they're too tight. Make that just tight enough. The silk that should slide slips too easily for her to get any traction to even attempt to manipulate them wider. Too strong to stretch them even around her thin wrists. 

She's caught. Trapped. Bound at his mercy when it's becoming steadily clearer that he has none.

The thought tightens things down lower and she's back to hating him when all she wants to do is beg him to fuck her and let her come. A frustrated grunt escapes her as she fails to escape the knots he's tied. She closes her eyes so that she doesn't have to look at him.

She jumps at the feel of his strong hands resting upon her upper thighs, pushing her legs wider apart, spreading her open like he's every right to manhandle her as he pleases. 

She wishes he'd manhandle her more. Shape her as he wants her. Then take what he pleases. He pushes her legs until he can stand between them, so close she can feel the heat of his body almost against her. 

His hand twitch in subtle threat when she tenses against him, refusing to spread her legs any further. "Behave Melinda," he orders lowly and she can't help the heat that spreads at his command, the desire to do as he orders simply to please him. She fights against his grip for a moment to try to cover how her too weak mind rebels against her. 

Then relaxes. Surrenders. Let's him win just as she lets him force her legs wide apart, so wide that her hips ache as he presses down upon them, holding her spread. Exposed. 

Vulnerable. 

x

 

She turns her head away to the side hiding her eyes, her thoughts, her embarrassment at her body's betrayal. When he shifts his hands, changes priorities, that's when she goes back on the attack. 

A sudden twist of her body and she's throwing a leg up high, calf locking around the back of his neck dragging him forwards and down. She can use the locked limb to pivot her other leg about him, to interrupt his attempted counter with a quick blow to his raised arm. His pained grunt registers but she knows it's not serious enough to stop her even as her leg brings him down low, releases for a too short moment for him to utilise effectively to escape before both thighs surround his throat, crush tightly against him just hard enough to hold.

With this grip she could easily kill him if she wanted to do so. Could force him to pass out easily with the twitch of a muscle or two.

But she doesn't want him dead or unconscious! She wants him to touch her. 

Stroke her. Hold her. Kiss her. Forgive her.

It's been so long... since anyone's touched her with care...

But she'll settle for making him eating her out as she's no way to force the rest. That his head is trapped at the juncture of her thighs should give him more than a small clue of her demands.

His hands grip painfully on the outside of her thighs as though he's the one holding her legs around his ears. He pulls backwards testing her grip until her hips rise off the desk, the pull extending her body until her arms are taught against the bindings that still hold her prisoner. His hands shift, she's expecting him to try to break her grip especially with the advantage of inhuman strength the replacement gives him. He doesn't go for the obvious though. His hands settle on her butt without apology, a palm encasing each cheek. Pulling them apart briefly so that fingers can settle more firmly, scratching briefly down her crack in an intimate threat that makes her attempt to writhe away.

She turns the move into a grind of her hips up towards his face hoping he'll miss the flinching retreat away from his threat. Knowing that he misses nothing. 

"Lick me," she demands, pleased when it comes out firm and commanding rather than the breathy plea she feared might erupt. 

His hands tighten on her butt cheeks, then flex releasing and tightening in a rhythm only he hears. Her pulse tries to speed up to match it. To double it. His eyes don't meet hers, focused as they are upon his target. If she weren't so damned ready to come then she'd probably feel self conscious at his intimate stare. 

She tightens her legs upon his neck, pulls him in closer and wishes she had a hand free to direct his head until his lips touched her. "You think demanding is the way to get what you want?" His breath washes over her moist lips, feather light and startling after so long untouched. The tingling sensations zap straight to the storm coiling at her centre. The teasing air currents dancing along her heated skin so blissfully cool drags an uncomfortable moan up out from her throat. She catches and holds back the curse, the whimper, the pleas that could so easily follow. Damn the man!

"When has demanding ever gotten you what you need?" His voice is a mockery of false concern. His unshakeable confidence winds her higher. She might have the advantage but he remains firmly in the belief that he's in charge. Totally in control.

"Make me come," she orders, tightening her thighs in a manner that should make him see spots however briefly before loosening to allow him to breathe normally once more. He seemingly ignores her threat. His fingers dance a staccato beat upon her rear.

"You think you have the upper hand? Think you're in control of how this plays out? Think you can make me do what you want?" his voice whispers before he bends, hot wet tongue touching down upon her upper thigh so teasing close to begin his tortuous trail slowly closer to where she needs him.

She squeals at the first lick. The flat of his tongue rasping lightly over her too sensitive folds. Pressing knowingly just three strikes past too hard over her swollen clit making her pull up away frantically, writhing, trying instinctively to escape the too intense sensations as his hands hold fast to her hips, fighting to bring her back down to the desk, to hold her trapped in place even as her thighs almost release their hold over him to escape. She holds on tighter.

The fact that he can do that - that he can touch her how so ever he chooses despite her thighs holding him, supposedly controlling him. That he can choose to hurt her. Can even hold her pinned down in place now he's the extra strength to use against her. That even when she fights he can overpower her. That she can't do a damn thing about it. Can't stop him. Can't escape. OH Fuck! That makes her heart pound. Makes her body scream at her - to run, to hide, to fight, to cry and beg and scream and- and then he licks her again.

More gently this time.

Just as intense. But at a level that’s pleasurable. Oh so pleasurable. A lick that makes her want to push closer, to ride that sensation again and again, to never draw back away. 

"Spread your legs, Melinda," he orders and her legs are opening for him before she's the sense to control them. To maintain the grip of her thighs, maintain whatever slight control she can over him in return. 

"Lick me," she orders instead, praying that he will continue. His hands shift to grasp a butt cheek in each, raising her hips up to meet him rather than lowering himself to her. It leaves her hanging in the air, supported only by his strong arms, but she doesn't care so long as he touches her.

The almost delicate little licks around her clit have her holding her breath as long as she can manage. He seems to delight in her response to that. Drawing it out further. Feathering light little licks around her again. Then again. Until at some point she’s got to breathe. 

She inhales rapidly as her body seeks to replace the lost air, but loses it all on a shout as he sucks her clit directly into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth deliberately to leave her breathlessly gasping, struggling as his lips brush and fondle oh so carefully as she whimpers and cries out beneath him in turn.

He tries to draw away and she panics, thighs clamping down around his head with what could be deadly intent, trying to force him back, seeking … more… just more.

The pain of a bite to her inner thigh makes her hiss sharply, her head raising up as far as her neck can strain to fix him with a well earned glare. Another mark of his upon her body, the little voice inside her head crows. Possessing her. Claiming her.

“Thighs apart, Melinda,” he orders firmly, quite clearly expecting to be obeyed and oh so definitely still in control no matter than he’s the one on his knees. His tongue touches her again. A light staccato beat played upon her clit so rapidly that she's screaming and breathless and so so close... when he stops again.

"Let go, Melinda," he demands simply. Her head barely knows which way is up but she knows she cannot let go, cannot concede to his demand that she release him or all will be lost.

"Will you make me hurt you?" His question is lighter than its contents, no obvious threat to his tone, merely lightly questioning. As though the answer doesn't particularly concern him.

His fingers stroke over her butt cheeks as he lowers her back down to the desk, forced to follow himself by the hold she has on his neck. The hard cold rigidity of the wooden desk against her ass draws to her immediate attention that his hands have moved merely moments before a finger pushes back up inside of her hot wet pussy unapologetically.

And ooooohhhh gaaahhh... if she could melt in to a puddle of sensation it would be now.

 

She’s missed this, missed him. Her fingers were barely adequate. The climaxes never quite as satisfying when she’s alone. His fingers are so much better. Strong. Long. Thick and completely outside of her control as they tease and torment, pushing and rubbing. 

Oh so much better.

A second finger stretches her, closely followed by a third that draws a half strangled groan from her throat at the feeling. Still so tight. So full. 

Perfect.

Her thighs tremble with the need to move, to spread herself open for him. To please him, surrender to him, or just to make more room as he thrusts those three thick fingers harshly up inside of her. 

She conceals her shudder through tightening muscles. His teeth bite down on the inside of her thigh forcing her shout even as a fourth finger forces its way up inside her despite clenching muscles trying to keep him out. He holds in place part way. Feels the fluttering of her struggling muscles against him trying to accommodate him. Or trying to force him out.

She's powerless to force him to do anything.

She whimpers as the realisation hits her and the movement causes another spasm of almost pleasure not quite pain around his fingers too thick inside of her. She almost says something. It's on the tip of her tongue.

But she swallows it back down. She doesn't want this to end.

His tongue licks a distraction from the light pain over her bitten thighs, switching from one to the other, soothing, teasing, drawing lightning twitches from over stimulated flesh that ricochets throughout her body, blinding her mind with pleasure. When he shifts his mouth to suck her clit stretched so tightly she screams appropriately.

"Who's in control, Melinda?" He asks quietly but he ensures she can't make any response to his light enquiry by setting his teeth down in a pull of her flesh, slowly letting the skin gradually drag loose again unmarked. Her held breath escapes her in one long low shuddering exhale as he chooses   
not to bite. She's very much aware of how he might still hurt her more. Very much aware that despite him being on his knees he remains utterly in control. 

"I don't want to hurt you, Melinda." His fingers shift inside of her, flexing, stretching, stealing the breath she'd intended to use for a response. "But I will," he promises and only then does he look up to meet her eyes with his. The sheer determination therein makes her hot. Hotter. The threat held right there in those otherwise plain seeming orbs. The eyes that let him hide so easily who he is, what he's capable of, and the lengths he will go to see a plan through. His eyes narrow at the shudder that shivers down her spine. The slight drag at a corner of his otherwise tightly firmed mouth says he's clocked it for the give away that it is - she's never been this turned on before, not even with him.

"Give in," he advises and she's knows it's good advice. Advice she should take.

There's slight pain as he shifts his fingers slowly backwards, withdrawing from her even as her muscles protest trying to suck him back inside. His eyes catch and hold her own.

A challenge.

A demand.

She won't concede.

His eyes don't move from hers as his fingers thrust back up inside her. Too much. Too much. Too much.

Deeper than before.

And oh soooo gooooood.

He pulls back, steadily retreating as she regains her breath. Retreating only to advance steadily forwards once more, pushing firmly up inside, her hips trapped in place by his arm and her own stubborn refusal to release his head from the grasp of her thighs notwithstanding that they both know she's already lost this battle. 

A slow sliding retreat scraping against seemingly every possible nerve ending inside her as he leaves. A swirling mass of confused pleasure building in her lower stomach makes itself known, demands her attention until she's panting, gasping, hot, so hot she might burst in to flames at any moment.

_Oh god!_

She's so confused. Everything so tight, so... so... much that she can't find the mind to decide whether it's pain or pleasure that blanks out her reasoning. It's too much!

He pushes back inside. So hard. So heavy. Forcefully. Demanding her body's compliance. It's obedience to his will.

Even as her mind rebels, refuses his commands, he does as he pleases to her body. Unconcerned with whether it pleasures or pains her. Just doing as he wants to her. It makes everything spiral higher. Hotter.

"Give in, Melinda," his voice coaches. Then his teeth scrape over her clit and she's rocketing upwards, her hips trying to buck up against him, seeking more, seeking escape, but held fast in his grip. 

She's panting, sweating, writhing on his fingers, putty in his hands. Her thighs no longer particularly hold him prisoner but her merely losing focus enough to allow his escape is insufficient a surrender for him.

His thumb presses against her pussy lips. No. Too much. She tries to rear away. To drag herself up the desk away from him, pulling on her bound wrists, frantic to escape. She can't. She can not take another. It's too much. Too deep. Too hard. Too... too intimate to let him go that far.

But she's oh so close.

So close she can almost taste it.

So close she'd promise him anything to finally finally be allowed to climax. But she can't!

She's unable to catch her breath. Heart pounding. Instinct drives her to fight. To flee.

The tie digs tighter into her wrists as her hands clench in to fist, fighting against the bindings that hold her trapped, painfully, in place. _He won't hurt her._ she tells herself. She knows that much as much as she knows _him._ It doesn't stop the air choking its way past the lump in her throat or her stomach churning at the pain as she tries to wrench her hands free and fails.

Fails.

She's caught.

Truly caught and not just bound for the sake of play.

He watches her struggle. Moves up closer until he's hovering over her. His face so close she can feel his breath as it ghosts over her damp skin. "You can't escape me, Melinda."

"I might never let you leave again," he whispers so quietly she's not even sure if the words are meant for her ears or just muttered to himself.

 

x


	11. Escape and Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You seem to have forgotten how this works, Melinda," he says in a too calm voice that makes her all the more wary._

Chapter 10 - Escape and Surrender

 

There's a part of her that wants to melt at the statement. Proof that he cares enough make her stay... 

There's a much bigger part of her that rails against the presumption that it's his decision, that he might be able to control her!

She's able to ignore the whispered words for few minutes as he plays her body against her until the pleasure has blanked her mind of all thought and consideration. Who cares what he thinks so long as he makes her come sometime soon.

But apparently her silence is not enough of an answer for him. When he stops again and withdraws she thinks for a moment she might actually have gone insane. That's the only explanation really as to why she might now want to fuck him or kill him. Maybe both. She can feel the tension inside of her just waiting for her to recover enough of her breath to do something about it.

"You fucking bastard!"

She fights against the ties. Ineffective. _Fuck it!_ Painful. 

Kicks out at him as he dodges and grabs for her legs.

"Let me go or I swear I will hurt you," she growls out as she finally makes contact - the top of her barefoot just clipping the edge of his jaw as he dodges.

"Not happening, Melinda."

"ARGH!" She loses it. Fights and growls and lashes out at him until he's forced to step back out of range of her flailing limbs. She takes the risk of having her back to him as she rolls over to her stomach. Scrambles quickly up atop the desk with her knees to get a better angle to pull the knife free. The cool solidity of the blade's hilt in the palm of her hand brings some rationality back to her. The fact that escape is literally within her grasp-

"FUCK!" Her ankles are grabbed, dragged backwards across the too slick desk and hauled out from under her. Her hand slips from the blade at the sudden motion then her stomach meets the desk with an oomph that drives the air from her lungs.

As soon as he lets go of her ankles she strikes back at him with her heels, but with her face in the desk she can't see where to kick and she can't get the angle to make a damn bit of difference! She kicks out, twists, windmilling her legs to help spin her body over on to her back. Then she can see him. All smug calmness just standing there watching her with that damnably arrogant smirk that says he's in charge. It sets her blood to boiling. A scream of rage is too much warning as she braces a heel against the edge of the desk, kicks up at his face with the other leg intending to wipe that grin from his expression.

He catches her foot, takes the impact in that cybernetic hand as her foot screams at her like she's kicked an only slightly padded wall of concrete! She hisses at the pain but gives it nothing more of her attention as she uses his grasp to fire another kick, lifting herself up off the desk and twisting to try for a round house against his jaw.

He catches that with less ease, less finesse. But then he has both her legs caught and she's no leverage to do a fucking thing about it! He grins down at her, far too damn pleased with himself, then kisses the inside of her arch, the light sensation zeroing down to her clit as though he's touched her there, relighting the inferno raging inside of her.

God, he's gorgeous... and dangerous. Maybe that's the attraction - the fact that he can take her down, that he will match her inch for inch and overcome whatever hesitation, whatever roadblocks her mind might throw in the way. She can't run because he doesn't leave her a choice. 

He switches his grasp until he's both legs trapped by his left arm, her feet almost over his shoulder. He doesn't even hesitate to haul both unapologetically higher into the air. The cool air drifting across her heated skin making it abundantly clear that her arse is dangling up off the desk. Exposed. Vulnerable.

His sharp gaze lands on her and all she can do is swallow, caught, trapped in his eyes. Power radiates from him. Electricity sizzling through her, sparks everywhere, she hardly dare breathe.

She expects the crack of his hand against her butt cheek milliseconds before the pain makes itself known. Blinding hot white pain says he hasn't held back even a little bit on the first blow. The second forces a scream from her throat and when her butt hits back down against the wood she's almost ready to fight her way free from the blinding pain, to call red and be done with it all. 

"I warned you more than once."

"You mother fucking bastard!" she screams out at him as she tries to kick herself loose.

She's dragged up high and he strikes again - the back of her left thigh making her yelp before she bites down on her lip to prevent any more sounds escaping.

"You want to say something to me, Melinda," he invites stroking a cool palm almost soothingly down over her heated skin, little fissions of pain making her jump and squirm to try to escape his gentle touch.

She swallows, breathes in a deep breath knowing without question that her intended response is not a good idea but not ready to give in. "Go fuck yourself!" she snarls.

Then screams at the pain as his palm hits her repeatedly, barely enough pause between each blow for her to breathe out through the pain. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts! But she can't stop herself squirming in his grasp, screaming out her rage at him, cursing him, fighting him! A part of her wants to scream to force him to release her, to stop the pain, stop everything. A much larger part delights in the fact that he's finally following through, proving he cares enough to go to such lengths to try to protect her. She curses him again at the blinding white pain, no longer a series of blows that she can discern just intense heat rising continuously in staggered blasts that coincide with each smack of his harsh palm against her screaming ass. It hurts! She tries to kick out, not to fight him but in instinctive reaction to escape. Oh fuck it hurts! He simply holds her in place, his firm grasp around her legs reducing all her efforts to a minor annoyance. It hurts it hurts so much damn it! He keeps her trapped in place, unable to escape him, and he beats her. Repeatedly. Harshly.

Until she realises the futility. 

Until she stops kicking and fighting, reactions reduced to squirming, to flinching to try to get away from him. Until her screams are no more at him than at herself.

Until she realises he stopped an age ago.

Realises that the burn of the backs of her thighs is constant rather than increasing. That his hand upon her butt is stroking a heated trail rather than repeatedly beating a tattoo of pain upon her abused cheeks.

Until she's beyond exhausted. Tearful and hiccupping between breathes. Yet calmer. Much calmer. It's as though something's been released so that she feels hollow, more peaceful despite the pain. 

"You seem to have forgotten how this works, Melinda," he says in a too calm voice that makes her all the more wary. And as his hands move to his belt buckle, smoothly unhitching the worn leather before slithering it out from the belt loops, she's hit by the unmistakeable thought that maybe this was a mistake. That maybe she shouldn't have been so eager to push him so far to the edge. That maybe... maybe he will hurt her...

A shiver courses through her body at the thought. She can't decide if it's arousal or fear.

 

x

 

Phil's POV

His cock is an iron bar within his pants and all he wants to do is shove roughly inside of her, again and again, until she screams out his name and concedes to the inevitable.

... but he's stronger than that. He's not going to give in to what they both want until things are sorted between them. He hasn't held off this long to concede to his body's primal desires now. She needs him to do more than just fuck her. She needs him to take her down, make her apologise and force her to make better decisions in the future. Decisions that he's included in, decisions that will keep her safe.

Oh he loves the contradiction within her - all hard strength, fiercely independent, fire and fighting on the outside, but so soft and gentle if she ever lets go, lets down those walls keeping her true self trapped so far away from the world. He finds most of her stubbornness delightful; enjoys punishing her when she pushes back. Except for the times like now when she's so damned fiercely independent that she won't let him have any say in her life, won't ask for help, won't _let him_ help. She still believes, despite everything, that she should be able to sort everything out on her own. Set off after Ward without warning him, fix the fucking problem or die trying. It's that latter part that makes him want to tear what little hair he has out. She could die.

He knows it's a risk every mission that he sends he on but at least then he can plan ahead, he can limit the risks with copious intelligence and plenty of back up. She's not alone when he sends her out, he is right there beside her or at the very least calling the plays on comms. He can protect her. 

He can't protect her when she won't let him.

 

He studies her intently, watches as she shuffles uncomfortably beneath his gaze before swallowing, her eyes darting away, then up to focus upon his tie binding her wrists, holding her in place. A light whimper reaches his ears. A small shiver running down her spine. The fine balance between anticipation and fear; exquisite. 

Her brown eyes are huge when she looks back up at him from a tear streaked face. She's so perfect. All mussed and aroused. Pain in her eyes, suffering. Why does she do this to herself? Why force him to beat her down, to make her concede? He reaches a hand up to cup her face and she nuzzles her cheek against his palm, instinctively telling him she trusts him, will willingly submit. "Roll over, sweetheart," he orders quietly and watches with half disappointment, half resignation as her eyes harden, body tensing ready to fight once more. He sighs. Why can't she ever make this easy?

"Not a dog, Philip!" she snaps out, jerking her head away from his hand with no sign of her softness. 

Very well then.

He withdraws his hand away from her, reclaims the softened leather of his belt and watches as she quails terrified like a small mouse beneath the hunting feline. She's scared... but her eyes glow desperate with need. She jerks her leg up out of his grasp when he reaches for her. A minor defiance that tightens his lips. He catches her leg more firmly the second time, roughly drags her back towards him as she shrieks blue murder, the polished desk no doubt playing havoc on her abused ass as he drags her down the short distance. "The words that you are looking for, Melinda," he speaks quietly, forces her to be silent to strain to hear him, "are 'yes' and 'sir'." 

She remains silent for a moment, still in a way she never normally manages, quiet all the way through and not just stationary on the surface. Her eyes flicker downwards, away, and he knows her natural submissiveness wants to say the words he's demanded, wants to surrender to his control once more. The words she mumbles are not the ones he's requested, her voice full of regret as she says "fuck you" quietly instead.

Well... there went her last chance. 

He flips her over roughly on to her stomach, checks with a concerned glance upwards that the ties on her wrists although twisted around won't have become too tight; he doesn't want her hurt. Seems a little contradictory as he takes in her beautiful butt, painfully bright red from his palm's attention. He smiles openly now that she's no longer looking at him and enjoys how she whimpers lightly when he can't resist stroking her heated skin. 

She doesn't lash out at him - she's learned that much at least - but she does writhe beneath him when he strokes more firmly and she's still not conceding. She shifts her hips slightly drawing his eyes down to her cunt, so much wetter now than it had been. He smirks as he moves his hand downwards to rub his fingers firmly over those wet folds, delighting in the groans she can't hold back. She shuffles her feet no doubt intending to spread them, give him more access, invite him to play exactly where her body wants him. Oh, her body never lies to him.

"Spread your legs. I want to play with your pussy," he tells her simply to give her another opportunity to voice her defiance and himself an easy victory. She immediately slams her legs back together, curling her back to try to keep that part of her hidden from him. She should know better by now.

He digs his hand in to her thick hair and pulls her head back harshly until her neck arched straining as her eyes well with tears and sought to reach him. "Do I need to repeat myself, Melinda?"

He waits her out.

Five seconds. Then ten.

Around the twenty second mark he watches as her throat swallows deeply, her tongue flicking out to lick lightly over her bottom lip, nervous tells she'd never normally permit herself. Then she spreads her legs.

He can overpower her, sure, but he'd much rather win the battle in her mind.

He rewards her appropriately, releasing her hair to let her lay her cheek back down against the hard desk for a mere moment before she raises it up again, biting harshly at those swollen lips to restrain a cry as he inserts two fingers without warning into the heat of her cunt. He loves the feel of her inside. All soft, wet, velvet. Ahhh, she clenches down and it's all he can do to keep from coming in his pants at the thought of how she'd feel around his cock. How she _will_ feel around his cock when he eventually gives in to them both.

Her hips shift minutely, subconsciously rocking in a rhythm known only to her. He's reminded afresh that he's been denying her climax. Denial a far more fitting punishment for her than a beating. Far more easily explained too given their regular medicals and her need to be physically fit for missions in the field. He's no intention of letting her go after Ward, no intention of letting her leave at all for a good long while, so there's little reason to restrain himself to any one vein of punishment. He adds a third finger, thrusts more forcefully, hears her breathy moan, let's her imagine that it could be his cock taking her.

"It could be my cock inside you now, Melinda," he prompts her imagination quietly. "Taking you." He increases the force of his fingers, stretching them out once inside until she groans earthily. "Fucking you." He says and holds deep inside of her whilst she works her hips against him, trying frantically for more, tempting him to continue. "Do you want me to fuck you, Melinda?" he asks smugly, already well aware of the answer she's probably going to give him.

Her body stills immediately and he smirks safely out of sight.

"Phil..." her soft words are almost pleading, almost what he wants to hear.

But she's already pushed for his belt, she won't truly be satisfied with anything less. Whatever surrender she might give him if he overwhelmed her with pleasure now will not be lasting. "Beg me, Melinda, and maybe I'll deign to fuck you." He phrases it deliberately to force a rise from her and is wholly unsurprised when she rallies.

"Go fuck yourself," she replies immediately, a gravelly growl to her tone that would frighten a weaker man. A weaker man wouldn't even attempt to subdue Melinda May. A weaker man wouldn't take her to task over her mistakes. A weaker man certainly wouldn't take a belt to her ass until she apologised.

Spoiler alert - he is not a weaker man.

 

x

 

He's methodical in his approach to a whipping. Every strike planned, intentionally placed, the power calculated to elicit the result intended. He shifts the belt to hold the worn buckle in his palm, adds the end and wraps the leather over and around his hand once, fingers clenching tightly down to hold the shortened strap firmly in his fist. He picks a mark on the desk directly to the right of her hip and swings down hard. She jumps at the crack of noise as it collides and even the heavy weight of the desk shifts slightly beneath her at the dramatic movement.

She murmurs a light whimper, the muscles of her arse clenching and unclenching nervously.

He pauses deliberately, letting her anticipation build.

He's almost holding his own breath to match her as the tension between them increases.

She shifts her weight nervously and he strikes, landing the first hit hard on the back of her thighs. She cries out at the unexpected pain. The leather will have stung mightily and she won't have been prepared for the first strike to be so low. He likes keeping her on her toes, in more ways than one. 

"Count, Melinda," he tells her firmly but he knows there is absolutely no chance of her counting at least the first four. She's far too stubborn to play nice so quickly. He barely gives her chance to answer, flicks his wrist to crack the belt down harshly atop her burning buttocks, delivering a wicked bite. Her body jerks, breath expelled from between her teeth as she grits them tightly together in defiance of his command.

"Are you going to count, Melinda?" he asks her simply. She doesn't answer but her whole body is tense, waiting on his response to her silence; a challenge she's probably not even conscious she's making. He's asked her a question and she _is_ going to answer it. "Well?" he snaps and she flinches at the word but makes no attempt to answer verbally. He almost smiles at her little rebellion - it's not going to last long. "You seem to have lost your voice, Melinda," he says gently mocking her, "lets see if I can help you find it." He slips his hand down between her legs, sliding two thick fingers back in to her cunt forcing a drawn out groan and her head to drop heavily down to the desk with a light thump. 

"Well it was a noise, but I can't say that sounded particularly human," he mocks her, delighting in the tension suddenly in her muscles. She hates being mocked, almost as much as she dislikes humiliation. He withdraws his fingers regretfully and pinches her clit before she can find any words to snap out at him in response. She squeals loudly in surprise and he grins, "closer, but still more wild animal than human."

She growls lowly, her whole body reverberating with the noise.

He strikes again, hard across her sit spots. "OW! Fuck!" Her entire body jumps at the contact, her back bowing and feet scrabbling frantically trying to pull up on her arms to escape away from the pain he inflicts. She doesn't manage to climb up on to the desk but she does manage to find the slack in her arms to twist her upper body around and give him a glare through the tears that would send a lesser man running. He is not a lesser man. "That hurts, Philip!" she snaps out at him. As if snapping at him is ever going to make him stop. She should know by now that the more she snaps and fights against him the harder he'll simply have to push her to concede.

"It's supposed to hurt," he tells her simply then lands a second much harder blow upwards from below to make both of her butt cheeks jiggle lightly as she screams at him in rage and pain, a last ditch attempt he knows before she breaks and gives in to him, to herself. 

"It hurts like I hurt when you left," he says quietly when she's finally stopped screaming at him. 

A look of devastation covers her face for an instant before she buries the feeling back down and hides her face against the desk between her bound arms where he can't hope to see. He hates it when she hides from him, when she runs from him. He grabs her hips and drags them suddenly back down the little distance she'd made up the desk. She yelps but she doesn't fight him on it, doesn't even struggle. Her body co-operating with him even if her words continue to fight simply because she's not ready to give in. He's used to that. Their words often lie – they’re trained to do that: to lie, to conceal, to deceive - but her body, her body never lies to him. 

He pulls until her wrists catch against the bindings, her arms fully extended, body taught beneath him, and most importantly her beautiful reddened ass hanging at the very edge of the desk. Exposed and vulnerable. She's even trembling lightly.

He can't resist letting his palms rub over the soft skin, feeling the heat, squeezing and manipulating her flesh as she moans and whimpers softly. He has to force himself to take a step back away, to pick up the belt again, double it over in his fist and crack the leather down against those lightly shaking targets. She leaps at the contact, a shout bitten off and any whimpers quickly muffled as she buries her face back down between her upper arms. Her body shakes much more heavily now, clearly with sobs, and he's very much tempted to drop the belt and drag her up in to his arms, to hold her and comfort her instead. _That's not what she needs right now,_ he has to remind himself forcibly. It's not what either of them need right now.

He strikes again before he can change his mind - "Count, Melinda!" - and again straight after, again after that. Varying his strikes across her already painfully red ass. She jerks at the eighth instinctively kicking out, not at him, just unable to keep still under the pain he's inflicting. Doesn't matter the reason. He brings the belt down on her right cheek hard, back hands straight away across the left, falls in to a quick rhythm, right then left, then right, then left. Each blow punctuating his words as he speaks over her muffled screams: "You." Crack right "Do." Smack left. "Not." A whip of a strike taking her high across both cheeks drawing a shout. "KICK!" He brings all the force he can bare to hit her with on the final blow, striking low across her upper thighs as they jerk up and away from her, a mad scramble to try to escape the pain as she sobs and finally gives up her pretence of control and descends into broken begging. 

"Please!" He loves it when she eventually gives in. "Please, no more." She's always so hard to break down. "Please, Phil, please." Always pushing herself and him farther and further. Seems the longer she goes without the more it takes for her to let go again. 

"Are you going to try to kick me again, Melinda?"

"Noooo," she wails, answering almost before he's finished his question, "no, please."

"Don't interrupt," he chides her quietly with a tap to her burning ass, aware of just how much even a light slap will hurt on top of what she's already suffered.

"'M sorry, sir," her breathless answer and the honorific he's not yet pushed for gives a keen indication that she's nearly there, finally letting go.

"Good," he replies simply. He lets the belt uncoil from around his wrist, watches her whole body sigh in relief as she hears it fall to the desk. "You're sorry for kicking me?"

"Yes, sir."

"For biting me? Twice?"

"Yes, sir."

"For leaving?"

There's hesitation, far too much damned hesitation, but she does eventually answer quietly from between the arms she's still not raised her head from, "yes, sir."

He hits her ass hard in punishment for the hesitation, his unforgiving replacement hand blistering across her already beaten cheeks is too much for her to contain as her head arches up, a scream ripped from her mouth. He curses himself for it immediately, he knows better than to lash out in anger! She attempts to shift on to her side, to curl her body in on itself instinctively trying to protect herself. He grabs for her leg, drags her back down across the desk until she's laid stretched out again beneath him. "Please, I'm sorry," a hiccupping sob accompanies the words, "it hurts, please," she pleads but he knows better than to just give in to her pleas alone without any real remorse for her actions. For her decisions. Decisions that could have easily ended with her death. He won't allow that again. He will not let her run off in to the distance, putting her life at risk unnecessarily without even telling him to give him the opportunity to lessen those risks!

"Count now," he instructs her softly and drops the belt's leather tail, shaking out the length of it preparing to give her exactly what she needs from him. He steps around the side of the desk to stand on her left, lets his hand rest on her lower back in silent reassurance. She twists her head immediately to place her right cheek against the desk so that she can see him. He measures the distance with a slow swing, planting no more than a gentle tap across her upper back testing that he's got the swing just right. 

She inhales raggedly.

"One, sir," she voices gently, a wicked gleam in her eyes saying she knows that isn't really 'one' but she's going to try it on anyway.

He snorts a laugh. This - _this_ is exactly why she is the perfect sub for him. He loves that her wicked sense of humour matches his own! "Sure, that can be one, Melinda," he agrees happily. "Six more. For the seven months you were gone," he says more maudlin as the echo of the pain of those lonely seven months without her crushes his heart. 

"Six months, two weeks," she says quietly, not exactly arguing with him.

"Then that one was for the two weeks," he snaps back, annoyed that she dare quibble over semantics at this point.

"Yes, sir," she sniffles then agrees subdued, "thank you, sir."

"I missed you, Melinda," he admits then flings the belt through a clean arc to land across her buttocks before she can respond.

She shouts out, legs kicking wildly in the air for a second before she settles and regains control. "Two. Thank you, sir," she breathes out shakily. "I miss-"

His lash falls again, diagonally, breaking in to her words before she can lie. 

"Three!" she shouts out on half scream then succumbs in to ragged sobs that tear at his heart.

But discipline must be maintained. "It doesn't count unless you-"

"T-thank you! S-" she yelps out when he strikes again, back arching up beneath his hand until he pushes her back down to the desk and leans a little more weight upon his splayed fingers, securing her in place.

"Don't interrupt me," he says but she's too far gone to really be listening to his words, crying and mumbling. "Melinda!" he snaps and slowly her glazed eyes move upwards to find his own. They clear steadily from the haze of pain, focus slowly upon him. "Four," he prompts her and she blinks gratefully.

"Four. Thank you, sir."

Five and six he lays down rapidly, one straight upon the heels of the other, marking a burning cross upon her back with all the strength he dares. She'll wear these marks for days, a constant reminder. "ARGH! Five, six, sir. Thank you." She's shaking constantly now, her breath coming in gasping pants interspersed with hiccupping sobs. "Please, sir. Hurts." He loves when she pleads. It's always a battle to get her to surrender - to him, to her own desires. It's a victory every time she concedes, a gift he cherishes every time she submits to him.

A gift he nearly lost.

But it's enough. Her shoulders shake with sobs she no longer tries to keep quiet. He can't help but reach out to her, comfort her with a hand stroking down her spine as she shudders and cries. As much as he knows she needs to let it all out, needs the release of emotion she's pent up and stored for so long... he still hates being the cause of her tears.

She needs the minute he gives her to breathe. _God, she's so beautiful._ "Phil..." she pleads and he can't help but be drawn in by her words and the suffering in her eyes. He crouches down at her head so that they're on eye level. He can see that his hands are trembling as he reaches out to her face, catches the delicate strands of hair that have fallen across her eyes, stuck to her forehead and concentrates simply upon brushing those strands back away behind her ear. 

"Tell me you're sorry, Melinda." Sorry for leaving. Sorry for not coming back. Sorry for risking her life with nary a care to warn him.

She shivers, tear-filled eyes locking on to his own, swallowing wetly to try to find her voice, a hesitant tongue darting out to lick over her bottom lip. He follows the trail with his thumb, brushing across her soft swollen lips gently, back and forth. He'd kiss her if it were a better angle. He leans close over her anyway, whispers in a breath across her ear to make her tremble, "Answer me, Melinda."

She sobs brokenly. "I am," she whispers, "I'm so-or-rry. So sorry. I didn't think- I just-" 

"Shh. I forgive you," he promises immediately. He'll always forgive her, for anything. He loves her, how could he not?

She doesn't appear to hear his whispered words over her own harsh breathing and sobbing breathless pleas. He moves steadily around the desk until he's standing beside her. She clocks the change in position, raises her head from its hiding place between her arms and looks up at him with her tear streaked face. He can't prevent his hand reaching out to her, fingers trailing across her flushed cheek, caressing down then back up. He meets her worried eyes seriously, her little hiccupping breaths quiet, and repeats himself only once he's certain that he has her full attention, "I forgive you," he says and she inhales rapidly, her eyes falling closed, head tilting gently into his finger that change from stroking to cupping her face in his palm. He's always amazed at her softness afterwards. Her gentle trust in him even after he's punished her. "I'll always forgive you," his lips say despite him not intending to voice the words. 

 

x

 

Melinda's POV

He'll always forgive her? Why does that thought alone make her want to break down and cry more than all of the burning agony he's whipped into her arse? Unconditional forgiveness. She shies away from the 'L' word. Unconditional acceptance is enough. It's more than enough. It's more than she deserves.

She shifts slightly uncomfortable with the turn her thoughts have taken and even that small twitch makes her gasp, wincing at the deep throbbing in her ass. Oh, he's laid in to her today. Probably worse than he has before. Is it strange then that she should feel more settled? More secure?

She appreciates ruefully that she needed it, that she pushed him to it. She's grateful she never has to say the words out loud, never has to ask him explicitly to punish her because she needs it. Her pride probably couldn't take that. She simply pushes and he knows exactly what to do to push her back. She seems never to be able to scare him away. With every strike she pushes him to inflict he somehow seems to say direct to her mind that he cares. Because surely only someone who cares would care enough to punish her even when she fights and curses him so soundly. 

That little part of her that doubted when he let her leave... the little part that grew each and every day that he didn't hunt her down and drag her back... that self-doubt that was eating away at her... that maybe she didn't mean as much to him as he did to her... all of that, he's beaten back with each blow of his palm upon her backside, with each whip of his belt biting in to her delicate skin, with his every word that says he is not giving up on her. Not giving up on them. She shudders at the sobs that come renewed. _Oh God, she loves him._

'She needs a firm hand', a Dom had once commented about her. Within her hearing! He'd appreciated the mistake he'd made before she'd finished with him. But, joking aside, Phil's always been one of the few constants she can rely upon to take her firmly in hand irrespective of how hard she might fight against his control. To accept her weaknesses, insecurities and all. To take her back even when she leaves him. To care even when she hurts him.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she tells him quietly because it's the truth.

"Shhh now," he croons reassuring as he heaves against the knife that appears to be stuck more firmly within the desk than he'd intended. He pulls it free just as she intends to try to climb up to help. The sudden wrenching on her sore wrists makes her yelp and scramble up atop the desk table with the momentum of his pull to lessen the pressure upon them. He slices through the tie and she surprised there's not even a moment of hesitation before he does so. Phil so loves his ties. 

The thought comes unbidden, _maybe he just loves her more?_ No. She is not going there. 

"How do you feel?" he asks her quietly, concerned eyes shining up at where she half kneels, half crouches to save her blistered butt from any pressure. How does she feel? She feels... Hollow. Drained. Lighter. 

Grateful.

Embarrassed.

She looks away suddenly feeling unaccountably shy under his too intent regard. "Come here," is all he murmurs in response to her actions. His hands on her upper arms guiding her across and off the edge of the desk, supporting her when she stumbles slightly, whimpering as the pain hits. His quiet encouragements keep her from feeling like too big a fool in the tentative way she's forced to move. No sooner than her feet hit the soft carpet than he's sweeping her legs out from underneath her. Her arms come up around his neck to catch herself on auto as he swings her up in to his arms and walks carefully with her the short distance to where his chair has ended up beyond piles of strewn files, the broken desk lamp and computers.

He sits and she muffles her cry in his shirt as her weight settles on her stinging ass for moments before he lifts and repositions her to sit on her less abused thighs. A press of an insistent hand and she's leaning flat against his chest, curled up against his warmth with her cheek resting softly over his heart. He always insists on holding her afterwards. One of his few rules she never seems to manage to break.

Notwithstanding history, she feels the need still to protest the move. Her body holds rigid for an instant; she doesn't need aftercare or petting. She is not weak! 

"I'm fine," she tells him and draws back away as far as his arms will let her. It's one of the few things she always fights against. She can rationalise her need to submit sometimes, she can even rationalise her need to feel pain, the science behind an endorphin rush, the confusion of the senses when overwhelmed from pain and pleasure combined. She's yet to manage to accept the way every single part of her wants to curl up in his arms for a hug while she cries for no apparent reason.

"It's not for you, it's for me," he says as he might well have said a hundred times before and with that excuse makes it impossible for her to call an end to this and just leave. He drags her back in to him, pulling her down to lie against him, pushing at her head until she rests again with one cheek against heart. The soft regular rhythm is reassuring in a primal way she can't describe with words. Her fingers come up to curl themselves in his shirt, holding on, making absolutely sure he cannot leave her when she lets her eyes fall shut. 

She can feel her chest rising, more rapidly than before. Can feel how her eyes are watering behind their tightly shut lids. She sniffles lightly, tries to hold everything back, to keep everything under control. Damn it. She sniffs again but she can feel the welling of emotion coursing up to overwhelm her despite her best attempts. It's senseless.

Sense and reason doesn't seem to come in to it though. At the gentle comfort, the safety of being surrounded in his arms as he rocks her like a child, fresh sobs erupt anew from her and she clings ever more tightly to him.

She might never let go.

 

 

x


	12. Finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chap to get back into the swing of things... it's been so looong since this started...

Chapter 11 - Finally! 

 

Phil's POV  
He can't find words to explain how good it feels to have her in his arms again. How perfectly she fits curled into him. How... right.

She's so soft like this, still strong but so beautifully... pliant. So gentle. So trusting.

And it's only him that gets to see this side of her. Open and vulnerable. It's humbling that she trusts him to let go like this, that she turns to him for comfort even when he hurts her.

His eyes trace the marks his teeth have left upon her shoulder. She'll grumble at him over that tomorrow when he bandages it to stop her clothes rubbing but he'll catch her admiring it in the mirror, the ghost of a smile at the edges of her lips as her fingers trace over the mark. Repeatedly. She loves wearing his marks almost as much as he loves watching her take them.

The ones on her back and behind will need a little more attention tonight. Soothing creams to take out the sting that she'll accept with not a murmur of complaint in her compliant state. He smiles to himself knowing full well that tomorrow she'll argue, claim she doesn't need coddling, try to get round him with her patented 'I'm fine' until he's forced to push the issue, 'convince' her otherwise. He's looking forward to it already. She really is the perfect match for him.

The tear tracks glisten wetly on her face. Beautiful.

He raises a hand to trace them softly with fingertips, then brush them gently away. She tilts her head into the light caress without question, eyes still closed against the lighting that's far too bright when she's so exhausted. He'll take her to his bed soon. Hold her tightly in his arms all night, exactly where she should have been the past six months. Exactly where he'll keep her for the next six.

His arm tightens around her lower back, deliberately avoiding the areas that would hurt. He doesn't want to cause her any pain. He never wants to see her hurt.

The breath of her soft sigh against his chest and how she winds her body even closer into his loosens the bindings that had been constricting his heart unnoticed and lets him breathe in the first full breath he's been able to take in what feels like forever. He presses his nose to the top of her head and inhales deeply of her comforting scent - the coconut shampoo she prefers when not on a covert mission, a lingering hint of her favoured green teas, and beneath it all pure Melinda May. Fuck but he's missed her. 

She shifts again. As though she can squirrel in further to him somehow. She's already as close as she can get but the attempt does bring a smile to his lips as he kisses the top of her head. She grumbles lightly under her breath when she's unsuccessful and sighs heavily giving up the attempt, all her muscles loosening until she's slumped boneless against him, trusting to the strength of his arms to hold her in place.

She's so beautiful like this. He's content just to let her just rest in his arms but as she shifts in his lap again it's clear that she's unlikely to settle. Her tight nipples pressed against his chest and the wetness that glistens upon her upper thighs are obvious reminders of unfinished business. His cock confirms it's immediate agreement with concluding matters explosively.

He moves her with a gentle yet determined purpose, mindful of her injuries, until she's leant back against his left arm, pushing her to leave space for him to play and freeing his right hand to do so. She barely rouses, simply rests her head back against his shoulder trustingly and he smiles.

His right hand finds her hip first, as if to support her in place, fingers spreading out to fan and touch as much of her soft skin as possible and stroke gently, comfortingly. He knows already that he's unlikely to drag this out as much as he'd like - his body has lost all patience with his delays already and reminds him painfully with every throb that he needs to step this up a pace. His thumb finds its target immediately, tracing across the hardened rosebud of her left nipple, eliciting a gasp from her that goes straight to his groin. Damn her! A repeat earns him a delightful little shiver in addition.

"Cold, Melinda?" he asks admittedly a little cocky before repeating the caress. Her groan is not a sufficient answer when they play this game. He pinches his target in reminder.

"Ahhhhhhh!" That wakes her up, eyes flying wide open to lock on his as her back straightens, her hands coming up to cover her breasts and protect them from any further retaliation.

"Melinda?" he questions simply, gives her the time to realises the situation. Her deer in the headlights look is so... incredibly arousing. He takes pity on her (this time) but turns his tone harsh as he repeats, "Are you cold, Melinda?"

 

Melinda's POV  
His voice alone should not be able to do that to her. Is she cold? "No, sir." She is the exact opposite of cold; she's burning up inside, fires of arousal barely cooled reignited by a look, a touch, a tone that demands it on a base level... by him. 

His disapproval resonates within her. The flick of his eyes down clues her in to what she should already have noticed and her hands drop away quickly. A mumbled "sorry sir" hopefully sufficient as she crosses her arms behind her back clasping hands to forearms to hopefully remind her to hold them there. The slight pain as she catches one of the welts on her back is like lightning to her clit as everything comes roaring back and all she can do is arch her back needily, offering up her breasts to whatever pleasures or torments he desires. To please him.

The approval in his eyes is what she longs for, the smirk that graces his lips as he lowers his head to take her nipple between soft lips is everything. Says perfectly that he's playing with her.

And oh God does he know just how to play with her! His mouth so hot, wet, sucking, panting. His tongue so nimble, pressing, teasing. The counter balance of teeth, the edges scratching, scraping, sharp threat that makes her heart falter, redouble twice as fast, blood pounding, rushing through ears deafened by the almost silence of his office. Silence broken only by her moans, her sighs of pleasure, her gasps of surprise. 

And oh his hand, fingers stroking, soothing, tapping, tormenting. Circling out and away from every part of her that begs to be touched. Scratching fingernails over her back. Red heat making her arch further up to him, making her squirm.

"Spread your legs." The words come out of nowhere but eventually filter through the pleasurable haze that seems to suffuse her senses. She does so with the barest hesitation. She's over sensitive after so much but she needs this more.

His fingers touch her just right, a slow sweep of pressure over swollen folds before pushing steadily inside. Her focus can't seem to split, zeroing in upon the fingers inside of her only to be dragged back upwards by the nip of teeth to the flesh of her breast, pulled across to the scritch of nails down to the hollow of her spine, forced back to the twitch of fingers so deep inside of her, pressing, searching, suc- succeeding! It's too much! It's far too much for her beleaguered brain to try to follow. To separate out the sensations. Oh! His mouth to her collarbone. All hot and wet and - and somehow he finds the perfect spot inside of her, pressing, brushing, flickering, exactly as his teeth biting down gently on the spot above her collar bone guaranteed to make her cry out aloud! 

Oh she needs this. Needs him to let her come this time. Needs it. Needs him!

"Please," the whispered word escapes her on a desperate exhale as she twists and shudders in his arms, trying to hold off, trying to hold back, trying-

"Now," he demands, a quiet growl in her ear, and holding back is impossible. 

His mouth crashes down upon hers to swallow her cries, tongue plundering, stealing her breath, her body shaking as her world falls apart. He forces her on through it, keeps his fingers moving gently, firmly thrusting, forces her higher, until it's more of a battle than a release. Hard fought and intense and everything and... as her muscles spasm suddenly her mind blanks. 

 

Phil's POV  
She has no idea what she does to him with those breathy little pleas as she gets close. How stunning she is as she holds herself in bondage, as she tries to raise her hips to push him faster, drive him harder, completely lost in her passion... and yet fails completely with no leverage to push against. Completely vulnerable, totally reliant upon him. Her little whimpers...

A curl of his fingers inside her, a brush of his thumb across her clit, the temptation of the bare expanse of purest soft skin right there at the base of her neck too much to be denied as his teeth bite down and she's trembling then thrashing then freezing beneath him as he holds on, drives her higher, pushes her on through it for the seconds until she collapses limp and exhausted against him.

She's exhausted but he wants more.

He always wants more.

 

 

x


	13. Welcome back, Melinda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AO3 was playing up, refusing to delete a draft chapter on this fic... which ended up with me pressing the wrong button and deleting THIS chapter from the fic entirely.. including all of your lovely comments :( 
> 
> I'm a sad axolotl re-uploading this. Please leave more?

Chapter 12 - Welcome Back

 

Phil's POV  
She's exhausted but he always wants more.

His fingers flutter inside her, teasing, warning... but her breath only hitches.

"More," he demands, a warning tone she should take care to heed.

"I-" she starts but that's quite clearly not going to be the "yes, sir" he's looking for so he cuts her off. His hand in the bottom of her hair wrenching her head up to meet with harsh lips and teeth that plunge down upon her soft lips, tongue sweeping into a mouth parted in surprise, swallowing her gasp of pain when his lower arm ends up supporting her weight across her shoulder blade to reach, consuming every groan that follows as he conquers her mouth anew, fighting and biting until she softens appropriately, lightly mewling her surrender. He accepts.

He moves his fingers within her again but her hands dart forwards, grab at his wrist. That is not an acceptable surrender. He pauses, withdraws from his enjoyment of her mouth to let her speak if she needs. She doesn't call foul. She won't meet his eyes... but she's not letting go of his wrist either.

"Melinda?" he asks lowly in warning and she trembles beautifully.

She drops her head further away from him, hiding behind the curtain of her hair.

He is not going to ask her again.

x

Melinda's POV  
She doesn't want to meet his eyes, doesn't want to see the disappointment there. He's been so good to her and she wants to reciprocate - wants to be good for him - but her body just won't comply. She's exhausted. Too sensitive by half. She can't come for him again. She can't.

"Can't," she confesses quietly to him and he laughs. It takes her a moment for it to register and she's already looking up in confusion at the reaction. Confounded man always throwing her off kilter!

"I'll make you," he says so simply, leaning over her body to nibble a trail of tiny enticing nips across her collar bone, his fingers too hard inside her as he moves, her grip on his wrist barely slowing him down. He really could make her. The thought makes her makes her head spin, her body so aroused she wants to give in, wants him to force her, but-

"Hurts," she chokes out and he stops again. Retreats back from her space leaving her feeling suddenly alone as he observes her silently. She feels nervous under the intense scrutiny, considers shifting, considers leaving. She doesn't like feeing like prey. (She loves it)

He draws out the silence. Stretches out the tension. They both already know how this will go. How this always ends. Ever the victor, to him go ever the spoils. She shivers again uncontrollably, swallows back the whimper that quivers in her throat and darts her eyes away from the gaze that pins her in place. Very much aware that he's the predator watching her, ready to pounce.

"I know," he says eventually, uncompromisingly. "Now. Let. Go," he bites out and her body reacts as he no doubt intends at his harsh words, clamping down hard around his fingers still buried deep inside her wet heat. Damn the man's voice for turning her body against he so easily. He'll read into that reaction far more than she desires, know he can push further, push just a little bit more. Her body always betrays her when he's involved. He always seems to know that it will, always knows better than she how far they can go, always knows best. She just has to trust...

Her smaller fingers let go of his strong wrist all at once and she shifts them swiftly back behind her back with a quickly spoken apology that she can tell from his thoughtful expression is too little too late. 

She admires his decisiveness as a commander. If she's honest, she still admires it sitting as a submissive in his lap. It's just a little bit terrifying in the latter situation as well. A _lot_ Terrifying. And exciting.

His eyes alight on the mess of his desk lamp, computer and multitude of papers he shoved to the floor in his anger and haste to make a point to her. His left hand gone from her hair to hold around her waist more securely. The fingers of his right just as suddenly removed from inside her without warning.

He presents them to her lips seemingly as an afterthought whilst his attention appears to remain elsewhere - but she knows better than to believe she holds anything less than his full attention in making the simple decision whether to comply with his unspoken order... or not. Her mouth is open, accepting, suckling before she's even really thought about it. The taste of herself not unfamiliar, not enjoyable in and of itself, but the way his eyes light upon hers in desire, the expression of approval, the smirk that says he's thinking of all the naughty things he can do to her, that all more than makes up for it as she dances her tongue beneath his fingers, swirls it around the tips, and sucks slowly, rhythmically, making promises she only hopes he will take her up on.

He withdraws with a groan and a shake of his head as though to clear it. She hides her smile quickly but he still catches it (he catches everything!), taps her nose with a chastising finger, and wipes the smile from her lips with a kiss that also steals her breath. His tongue tangling and teasing with hers, reigniting the fires within her, pushing her to want to push him in to action, force him to take her down again, claim her, possess her.

His lips abandon hers well before she's ready, his body shifting careful not to dislodge her, arm extended to grab at a cable from the mess beside his desk. He hooks it on the second attempt. Green - not exactly the most inspiring of colours but it'll no doubt do the job intended. He gives two hard tugs for it to pull free of whatever it should have remained attached to and she's offering her wrists abashed before he's sat back upright anticipating his most likely plan. 

Two wraps around her wrist with his index finger as a spacer between - he's always careful not to make anything too tight when he's using an unforgiving material to bind her. Overly careful in her book! But then she's not the one calling the shots right now. "Behind your back," he instructs but the twisting required for her to lean down sufficiently for him to reach over behind her to bind the second wrist in place pulls painfully at the sore skin across her back. Intentional no doubt. The slight tinge of pain, a lesser punishment, extended as he takes his time carefully securing her. The fact that she can do nothing about it, hanging naked across his lap with wrists bound tightly behind her, only ramping up her arousal further. Oh he knows how to play her body and mind. She can't wait for him to take her.

His fingertips brush over the marks on he's left on her skin and she freezes, holds perfectly still in place to let him touch as long as he wants. Tracing so lightly, so delicately over the marks he has left upon her skin, marks she's almost begged him to inflict, marks she's pushed him to grant her. His marks. Then his nails scratch down her lower spine causing her to arch her back in pleasure, trembling, straining to hold still, rewarded with a repeat that makes her skin tingle and a whispered plea drop from her lips.

He pushes her shoulders when he wants her to sit up again, helps stabilise her in position as she still hangs somewhat precariously seated on her thighs across his lap to avoid pressure on her stinging ass. She spreads her legs open as soon as she's balanced sufficiently, allowing her left to drop down to the ground, giving him the opening he'll desire before he demands it. He holds her eyes trapped as he touches her intimately once more, dares her to protest or to try to stop him this time. 

She bites her bottom lip to stop herself verbalising anything as his fingers stroke once, twice, over swollen lips then press steadily inside. She's not sure whether it hurts or she's just over reacting, anticipating, but her attention is swiftly redirected by his lips upon her throat. Teasing with the edges of his teeth. Primal. Threatening on an instinctive level but her mind knows far better than to feel fear at such a move. He'd never really hurt her. A scrape of teeth and he's moving on, down lower and left, until he reaches a patch of skin he favours for some unknown reason. Mouth playing along her skin, hot and wet open mouthed kisses, the pressing lick of a dragging tongue delicately describing a trail across and around, suckling repeatedly, little bruises she knows will smatter a pattern he'll enjoy watching her uncover for him every day until they inevitably disappear.

His left hand (more gentle than he's ever given it credit for but in the heat of the moment he appears to have forgotten his reservations) brushes over her lower back, strokes repeatedly, scratches lightly at the dip of her spine, enticing her body to arch further into him but ready to support her should she suddenly need it. 

That's not to say the fingers of his right hand have stopped stationary inside her - just that it's incredibly difficult to split the focus of her attention when he plays so many parts of her body so delightfully against her. He caresses her oh so carefully, pushes in and out of her so slowly it's more a massage than an invasion. 

His head comes up to find her lips, brushes across them with his own teasingly. Once. Twice. Until she's trying to lean forwards to reach him herself, whimpering admittedly pitifully when he retreats. He concedes almost immediately, granting her the kiss they both want, deep and wet and oh so sinfully wanton. 

His fingers curl inside her, his thumb brushing over her clit, and she's taken by surprise as the orgasm washes over her, his mouth swallowing her small cry.

She should have known better than to doubt.

But if he says 'I told you so' she's going to find the energy somewhere within her to manage to kick him! 

 

x

Phil's POV  
"On your knees now," he orders and she drops in her haste to comply, trying to push his knees apart bodily until he stops and steadies her with a hand. "Eager much?" he asks with a grin.

She matches his smirk wickedly for an instant before she speaks, an unimpressed "little bit" accompanied by a disinterested shrug. The frustration -the challenge- that simply is Melinda May makes him want to laugh or crow or shake her until she takes it back and responds more appro- "I want to taste you." Hello now. "Please, Phil." Fuck he loves it when she begs in that needy tone. "Let me suck your cock." 

He bends in half to kiss her quickly. It's a damned awkward angle but deserved and he can't resist when she kneels before him, eyes wide and dark with arousal, begging for his cock. His sinful sub, she'll have him undone before he gets anywhere near her mouth if he's not careful!

His hand atop her forehead stops her following his lips upwards as he rises back away. Her disappointed look is exactly as he expects until she catches his raised eyebrow and quickly schools her expression. Feigned submission is not enough. Time to push her mind back exactly where he wants her - needy and compliant. "You're mine to do with as I wish, Melinda," he growls lowly, swooping suddenly down to grab her bound arms out from behind her, wrenching them upwards dramatically, placing pressure on her shoulders just this side of causing damage, forcing her to concede, to bend forwards, head and shoulders lowering to the ground before him as he follows her down to crouch beside her, pushes her further, bound arms raised higher, a joint lock she's no ability to escape after letting him bind her so. He holds her in place, keeps the pain a low thrumming constant, lets her suffer just a little. She whimpers softly, cheek pressed against the hard stone floor, the smallest of silent tears blinked from her so expressive eyes, yet she offers him no resistance. Oh she is perfect like this. Body straining, suffering, beautiful. 

"I'm going to take every... single... part of you," he whispers the promise directly in to her ear. It's time she relearned just what it means to be his. He isn't letting her go until she no longer wants to leave. He promises them both that much at least.

He holds her under stress for a moment longer, let's the words settle in to her mind, watches the change in her breathing pattern that says she's falling, the flutter of her eyelid as her eye drifts closed seemingly peacefully, the rhythmic clench and release of her thigh muscles telling of her body's wants despite the pain.

He lowers her arms gently until they rest against her back, rubs at her upper arms more roughly, massaging away the ache he knows she'll be feeling with competent hands until she relaxes more thoroughly beneath him. Only then does he rise, reclaiming his seat above her prone position. Oh it feels so good to conquer so powerful a woman.

She who would not willingly surrender to any other, lying prone at his feet.

"Up now, kitten. I want to feel your mouth around my cock."

x

Melinda's POV  
The pet name makes her feel small. Smaller than she is. Vulnerable in a way that strength of arms alone never makes her feel. She hates it.

She swallows against the trepidation as she pulls her knees in beneath her chest to take the pressure from her shoulders, enable her to raise her head, rise to her knees as so clearly instructed. Oh how she needs this. 

She licks her lips nervously, subconsciously, realising her tell only as she hears his low chuckle at her expense. Her pride tells her she should grace him with a glare, even if only for an instant, even one she doesn't particularly mean but that needs to be shown if only for her own sense of self in this game of wills that she is most certainly losing. 

She doesn't want to.

His hands grasp upon her upper arms, reminding her with an immediacy that robs her of breath how easily he could force her down again. She's still bound after all, trapped before him, his leaning over her reinforcing the inequality of their positions, his clothes her nakedness, her vulnerability. She feels as her eyes lose their edge, blinks hurriedly in an attempt to hide how much it turns her on to be so caught by him, but ends up looking down at the floor, lowering her eyes in a way she knows he'll interpret as submissive. That they'll both interpret as submissive. She can't seem to recall why that's ever been a problem before.

She hears but refuses to watch as he pops the button, the gentle snick of teeth as he lowers the zip, the slight swish of fabric and the low breathy groan as he no doubt takes himself in hand... then she can't resist any longer. Then she watches. Her eyes drawn like a magnet to the sheer sight of him. So perfectly contoured. Magnificent. The things-

He doesn't give her time to appreciate him properly. He leans over and forces his cock against her lips in unspoken command. She's no intention of refusing him, swiftly opening, letting him push inside, trying hurriedly to greet him with tongue and lips and - the angle is all wrong with her so low! She can barely get the first few inches before he's bumping against the back of her throat. She's swallowing rapidly to control herself, trying every trick she knows to make it good for him anyway but he doesn't appear to care as he withdraws. She sucks at him lightly, raises up higher on her knees, her head trying to follow, but his hand finds her hair, grasping, fisting, painfully pulling her head up and over him for a much better angle, then holding her in place. A mere inch from her target that might as well be miles. She doesn't fight his hold. She'll get what she wants, when he deigns to give it to her. His control makes her tremble.

Her eyes stay fixated upon his cock, standing hard and proud, slightly glistening now from her efforts and she can almost taste. It takes him shaking her head twice for her to growl at him from the light pain and distract her, pulling her head up, eyes up to find his, his own snarl a knee weakening response that arouses her more than words can say even as her body tries to flinch away.

"Behave," he growls lowly, fingers of his other hand digging unapologetically into her cheeks, leaving her no choice in whether she opens her mouth to take his cock inside. "Or I'll find a way to make you."

His fist in her hair directs her forcefully down atop him, not that she needs the encouragement, simply to maintain the control that works for them both. He pushes, cock pressing insistently until her body concedes, swallowing him down deeply, soft tight heat enclosing all around him as he invades her throat. 

He takes what he wants.

That what he wants is her is obvious.

 

x

Phil's POV  
Hot, wet, tight, heaven. Oh this, THIS is a magical place.

Here with Melinda on her knees, tears in her eyes as he robs her of breath for his own pleasure. Forces his cock down her throat delighting in her struggle to accommodate him. Moving her head by the reins of her hair as though thrusting her down around him. Allowing her to rise only when he pleases to gasp a quick breath and forces her down again. Her body his to do with as he desires.

But it's too good.

He has to pull her off for good or he'll lose control. She looks up to him in question when he does so for an instant before she looks quickly back down. "I want to come inside you," he explains despite knowing he doesn't need to explain himself to her here and now. She's his now. In these magical moments between the chaos and confusion of their real lives, she's his. His to do with as he pleases. His completely. Unreservedly.

His.

She doesn't get a choice. 

"Up," he demands and she stands without hesitation from kneeling with wrists still bound behind her beautifully, flexibility and long practise lending a grace to her movements very few could hope to emulate. He hasn't found the energy to even sit up straight yet.

"Where do you want me, sir?" she asks softly, slightly horse over a fucked throat and oh gods if the answer isn't everywhere, anywhere and right fucking here! She's gorgeous all mussed and sweat covered and eager for him to take her. She's noticed his preoccupation given the shy smile that graces her lips. Lips deliciously swollen from his attentions and oh how he wants to kiss her again, feel that softness for himself, swallow her gasps as he- "Shall I sit on your lap?" Oh now that is an excellent- "Or do you want to fuck me over your desk again?" Admittedly a favourite of his and her tone says she's laughing at him a little but that's okay when she's making such excellent suggestions.

"Desk." It's an answer and a demand all in one. 

"Yes, sir," she replies and pivots immediately on a heel. He can't help it if his eyes zero in to watch the marks on her ass, his marks, his view infrequently interrupted by the pass of her bound wrists, as she sashays the short way to his desk. She might just have been walking normally. He doesn't care when she leans forwards, positioning herself over his desk, legs spread, wide open and waiting. Only for him. 

He grasps his cock painfully at the base to ensure he doesn't embarrass himself. Then forces himself to count off ninety full seconds of time before he even attempts to kick off his boots and trousers and try not to stumble in his haste to get over to her.

He palms her ass cheeks, squeezing and manipulating them as she moans and writhes, still bound and effectively powerless beneath him. He can't wait to have her.

He can wait a moment. "How are these?" he checks in quickly, tapping her hands before testing the tension and tightness of the cable upon her delicate wrists.

"Good... please, Phil!" she begs, frustration edging in to her tone, and he knows exactly what she wants but her safety will always be his foremost concern so she'll just have to wait too. Satisfied that they're not causing any restriction on her circulation or too uncomfortable a pull on her shoulders he lets it go.

"Knees up on the desk. I want you spread wide so I can fuck you hard like the wanton little bitch you really are," he growls possessively, delighting in her little moan at the prospect, and grasping her painful ass cheeks to 'assist' her in wriggling up on to the hard surface. He climbs up behind her, pushes her spread knees wider, wider still until she's trembling, breathing hard at the stretch. He's always pleased with her flexibility and fitness. She would hold any position if he demanded it of her, even if it made her struggle, even if it made her strain. A little tremor in her thighs is perfect for the lengths he intends to be engaged conquering her completely. 

He touches her gently, intimately, testing and she hisses, flinching away instinctively only to correct her position, verbally covering with an "I'm fine" she must know he won't believe. He slaps her already bruising ass for the blatant lie making her tense and fidget, writhing delightfully seeking contact to rub herself against.

"On a scale of one to ten."

"Three," is her unhesitating comeback and she shouts when he strikes her ass again in simple punishment.

"So more like an eight," he concludes aloud for her benefit.

"Please, Phil. I want you inside me. Please." Maybe it's her pleas - "Please fuck me. I need it." - or the desperate tone of her voice as she begs or maybe - "Please fuck me, Master!" - yep, it is definitely that last that has him growling her in to a trembling silence.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow," he promises her gravely. She won't be walking anywhere tomorrow, he promises himself within the privacy of his own mind.

x

Melinda's POV  
Thank fuck for that! She's not sure she could go on now if he refused her at this last. She needs him. Needs him to finally take her. To fuck her. Hard and deep and fast and - oh fuck she just needs him inside her now!

His fingers stroke her wet nether lips more firmly. She doesn't care if it hurts so long as he fucks her. Then his fingers move, wet slickness tickling up the crack of her arse and making his intentions abundantly clear where they come to rest. "Here," he says unnecessarily as he pushes intensely as her asshole, rubbing, teasing, pressing.

"I don't-" she refuses immediately, unthinkingly.

"I'm not asking your permission, Melinda," he replies simply enough but the concept sends her mind spinning and her heart racing. Despite his words he pauses for a moment.

She knows he's giving her time to say something, to stop him. They don't do this often. There's a reason for that - she hates it. She hates the feelings that accompany it. Hates the vulnerability. The intensity. The slight fear. The overwhelming...

Except...

Except she doesn't hate it. Doesn't hate it at all. She says she does. Tells herself. Tells anyone in the rare position able to ask. Tells him.

He pushes his finger firmly forwards against her and she almost chokes on her breath.

Oh god! She craves it. The stretch. The way her body concedes, gives way to a stronger form. The naughtiness of it. The intensity. The humiliation and the overwhelming emotion of it all as he penetrates her anally. Take every part of her as he desires. All of her open to his domination. No part of her left untouched. Untaken. Unconquered.

His fingers against the cheek that isn't pressed down to his desk thankfully interrupt her thoughts before she comes completely undone. Swiftly finding her swollen lips, intention unmistakeable even though she knows rationally anything she imparts will be insufficient.

"I suggest you comply, Melinda," he advises too easily over her hesitation. His voice too quiet, too calm to be anything but a threat. "It's all you're getting."

Normally she might fight, might force him to make her. Her pride already subdued by his hand she can allow her better angels guide her to the more sensible decision. Parting her lips in invite, taking his fingers into the hot cavern of her mouth to suckle and tease, tongue caressing, nimbly tormenting. Swallowing repeatedly to try to bathe them in saliva she's barely able to find over a mouth turned apprehensively dry. 

He doesn't give her long to worry at it, the head of his cock guided to the drenching wet heat of her pussy lips, rubbing lightly up... and then... down. Teasing her in return with gentle pressure that whilst not quite hurting isn't totally pleasurable either. He's wetting himself with her juices, she knows that and what comes after is preventing her from surrendering to the sensations alone. But it's hard to stay focused when she can feel him touching her so intimately. Sliding up... and down. Brushing against her clit on every other stroke. Fingers of his hand chucking beneath her chin, drawing to her attention how her mouth has fallen open, all concentration lost and redirected to his playing of her. She quickly finds his fingers with her lips, encouraging them back inside her mouth with a tickle of tongue to their tips , choking on nothing but air as his cock pushes up inside of her. 

Swift deep strokes that sting even as they reignite the embers of fire never truly seemed to have been quenched. His fingers are set free as an 'ahhhhhhh' of exhale escapes her at a particularly delightful thrust. Fingers find their way to more intimate, more interesting areas. Brushing down to crack of her arse to circle a torment of threatening pressure scratching around her hole.

She can't help it if her breath catches and refuses to restart.

A single finger pushes forwards, breaches her tight ass on the next breath. She's barely ready and yet she's so very very ready for this. For everything. All of it. All of him.

"Please," she begs and writhes in frustrated need, aroused beyond measure at the thought of what he'll do to her even before he begins. His hand between her shoulder blades prevents her movement, crushes her breasts to the slick desk, pins her harshly in place. Controls her movement absolutely.

Then adds another. The stretch inside of her indescribable. Painful. Pleasurable. She's so strung up by sensation she can't hardly tell. Fingers scissoring within her, pushing her, manipulating. Fuck! He;s so damn goooooood with his hands... all she can do is groan and take it.

His fingers pop free way before she's ready mentally, replacing it within seconds with something much much larger. It's an inescapable pressure she knows originates from her asshole but it feels as though he's pressing throughout her whole body, the pressure flattening her, condensing her until she feels like she might... implode! To catastrophic effect! Body wound so tightly, muscles and mind straining, until she can't- a soundless pop she feels more than hears, her own throat too short of breath to scream as the head forces its way up inside of her - and pauses as she pants, desperately trying to adjust... to accept... to just take it...

"Ple-ASE!" she half squeals as he pushes against her harder, driving deeper, and she's unsure herself whether she's begging for mercy or for him to continue.

 

x

 

Phil's POV  
Her begging is arousing beyond measure. Whether she pleas for mercy or for him to fuck her is frankly immaterial. 

He takes his cock in hand with a hiss, lines himself up, pressing against her delicate rosebud, savouring the moment he chooses to claim her utterly. Then he's pressing forwards inexorably, irrespective of her wishes. Inch by inch forced upwards in to her bowels. Watching intently as he forces her asshole to stretch painfully open around his cock. Forcing her body to surrender to his invasion. Filling her. Taking her. Her little mewling cries as she suffers beneath him encouraging him to take her deeper, faster, until he bottoms out within her, his hips coming to rest against the heat of her burning ass cheeks with a groan. His fingers are digging bruises in to her hips at the effort of holding himself still when all he wants to do is fuck her until she cries, until she screams, until she admits she's his, admits she's staying.

He leans down close over her trembling form, savouring the moment of his conquest, to whisper in her ear, "you're mine, Melinda."

x

 

Melinda's POV  
And maybe she is and maybe she needs this sometimes to be certain of that one simple truth - she's his. He's hers in return sure. But more important is that she's his. That he lays claim to her. Howsoever she might behave, whatever stupid decisions she might make, whatever her mistakes, historic and more recent transgressions.

But Jesus Christ it hurts!

And yet through the pain there's a feeling of rightness, of belonging. That he will take her as and when he pleases. That he cares enough to capture her, to force her down and possess her so absolutely... his forgiveness unconditional. His lov-

His tightly exhaled whimper when she clenches unintentionally drives to the forefront of her thoughts - the pleasure that he derives from her body, from her submission, simply from her never ceases to amaze and humble her. She'd grant him this even if she weren't attempting to repair the hole in their trust she tore when she left without explanation.

She'd grant him anything he asked.

Anything he didn't. Anything.

Everything.

 

Oh fuck! She relaxes the minutest amount and he's taking advantage, sliding forwards pushing all of her aside to make the room he needs... opening her up for him... forcing her body to concede to his... stretching, oh god stretching! 

Until it feels like she'll burst! Explode across the cosmos, unmade and never to be put back together again! Only then as she panics minutely does he halt again. The pressure unending. Inexorable. But constant, static, bearable even as she has to force herself to remember to breathe!

"Gods Mel" she's probably not supposed to hear him say on a more than ragged exhale as his forehead rests down against her sweat slicked back seeking a moment of control before both of them lose it.

A fraction of an inch of movement sets explosions of fireworks across the backs of eyes shit tightly closed as she finds the additional small pain of teeth biting into already swollen lips to try to contain the animalistic cries that want to escape her throat. The pain conceding, giving way to a deep churning in her stomach that's more gravity than any feeling she could easily name. More turbulence than pleasure. Centred. Deep. Intense and all consuming.

He groans of base need in to her skin and her body answers to his call.

Fuck, she needs this!

 

She pushes back against him, moans aloud at the feeling of him sliding further, possessing her deeper even as it stings forcing the rivulets of pain down noting as the mass swirling inside of her stomach grows stronger, tendrils extending out farther, suffusing all of her. Taking all of her.

Her whispered "Please, sir," is all the permission he seems to need to finally let go his vaulted control. A steady slide against clenching muscles backwards until she's disappointingly empty, sorrowfully alone, pityingly ready to beg just to avoid the heart wrenching loneliness - but then he's there. Pushing. Oh Jesus pushing until she's caving, body conceding to the pure force he brings to bear. Surrendering before his power just as he desires. Just as she desires.

She feels so small.

So vulnerable beneath him.

When he just pushes and she can do naught but take.

A moments hesitation at an inarticulate noise of pain as he goes deeper than before, plundering... before he withdraws back, let's her find her breath again, and surges forwards once more!

She's like putty in his hands, boneless beneath him. His hands clamped down so tightly upon her hips she can't even get an inch to move with him. Or away from him. Bound, spread out beneath him, impaled upon his cock, able only to whimper and moan and pray for him to be merciful in his use of her.

His cock so big inside of her.

Possessing her.

Absolutely.

 

But as he begins to move she can no longer hold to rational thought. It's too much for anyone person to take and still think in coherent sentences. She's lost... The feelings... 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. So full. It feels so good. The stretch. The sheer depth of him inside of her. Oh fuck it hurts so much it's amazing! Pain and pleasure entwined in a maelstrom of sensations so overwhelming she can't form a coherent thought! Mindless whimpers and whines flow out of her throat, pleading incoherently for things she's unable to voice.

She half screams when he pulls out leaving her with the most daunting feeling of emptiness before he pushes almost immediately back in just as slowly repeating. Every thrust quickly turning her bones to jelly, her whimpering in pain transforming to groans and gasps of pleasure as he fucks her ass like he's the god given right to do so.

She can't believe this is happening to her. The pain swirling with pleasure so confusing. Every movement igniting fires that streak down to the inferno raging within her. All encompassing. Overwhelming. Her body responding primally to his need, his savagery as he takes and takes and takes and all she can do is surrender to his ferocity. 

 

x

 

Phil's POV  
Gods she never looks better than when she's a hot and sweaty mess impaled on his cock!

He gives her a sudden hard thrust, shoving inches of his cock back within her butthole forcefully, dragging a short scream from her lips that's more humiliated pleasure than pain. Her body making the leap her mind struggles to complete. He grins in triumph. Oh the pleasure of violating her this way, taking her in a manner she hates, forcing her body to comply beneath his... stretching her, hurting her, possessing her so completely... it's everything he wants and more.

He pulls back only to give her another bone shaking thrust, grabbing her hips tightly to prevent her being thrown up the desk by the force, delighting as she cries out again and he holds for a moment to appreciate the sight of his cock forced balls deep inside her rectum, reddened ass cheeks bearing the welts from his belt as her crushes his hips against them in a manner that only increases her painful pleasure. 

She mewls softly beneath him and he takes pity on her, retreating gently pulling backwards, a moments mercy so as not to truly wreck her, pumping his cock in and out of her freshly stretched hole. Settling into a steady punishing rhythm, inch by steady inch plundering her depths whilst she bites at her lips to keep from screaming aloud. Her hips twitch against him as he bottoms out and holds each time forcing her to submit to the reality that he controls her. She's flattened down, cheek and shoulders against his desk with her ass raised high in the air, a slutty offering he's already accepted, no leverage to push or pull away. Forced to simply take everything he chooses to give her. Every inch of his cock inside of her. A toy for his use. She can only twitch pathetically within his grasp, frantically trying to rub her painful ass up against him, desperately seeking more sensation, more pain, more pleasure, more. Just more. 

He's happy to give her exactly what she needs... when he wants to. 

He fucks her as he pleases. Ignores how she pushes back to meet him as best she can without leverage, trying to encourage him faster, harder. He's the one in control here. He holds her hips tightly, pulling her back against him so that he can pull her on to him deeper, take her faster, move harder, give her more, make her his, leave no room for any prevarication, any doubt.

"You're mine!" he growls into the back of her neck.

"Yes!" she shouts immediately. "Yes, yes, yours. Please. Please Phil! Take me. Make me yours!" Her words spur him on as intended. She's so hot. Writhing beneath him. Wrists still bound tightly, arms straining. Entirely subject to his control. She's so beautiful like this. Free. Uninhibited. Possessed.

Just the sight of her like this is nearly enough to make him shoot his load. He's so close. But she's not and he wants her with him. Call it arrogance or masculine pride but he wants her to come stuffed full of his cock before this night ends. And he's fucking well going to get whatever the hell he wants!

He hauls her upright, pulling them both backwards until she's leaning against his chest, her knees spread wide to either side of his own, her own weight forcing her down on his cock further, taking him deeper still, whimpering and writhing at the intensity she can't escape until he's biting viciously at her shoulder to hold her still so that he's chance to regain control. His arm wraps around her waist, other hand lowering swiftly finding her clit, his fingers stroking oh so lightly eliciting a muffled moan even as she flinches away from his touch. 

His hands dig in to her hips, drag her upwards until only the head of his cock remains within her ass. Hovers her for an inexorable moment, seconds that are comparable to hours of torture he's so desperate, before plunging her back down around him, groaning at the tightness as she screams and bucks against him. He pushes two fingers violently up inside her aching cunt, intense pleasure radiating, increasing the tightness around his cock tenfold as she squeals and twists upwards, trying to escape him. So close. He's so fucking close. 

He lets her squirm upwards, lets his cock drop almost from within her only to brush his thumb harshly over her clit and hammer her smaller body back down around him with all the strength he can bring to bear. Her spine arches painfully backwards, muscles so tense he fears she might cause herself an injury so he holds, waiting, patiently as she flexes tightly around his fingers and cock, trembling so sweetly, her eyes screwed tightly shut, swollen lips parted in a silent scream as he waits her out. 

It's only a matter of moments for the pleas to fall from her soft lips. Her body dances, hips rocking beneath her uncontrolled in time with his stroking, rhythmically working herself upon his cock and fingers, making them both groan aloud. He twists the hand from around her waist to reach upwards, pinch an abused nipple tightly between thumb and forefinger, adding to the bewildering sensations overwhelming her body, primitive reactions overtaking both of them as they writhe and grind against each other seeking greater pleasure.

"Ride me," the only words he need say before she's torturing them both at his urging, driving them on to a spectacular climax, pulling against his hold to rise up on her knees, back still tightly bowed, her hair tickling against his chest only to drop suddenly slamming herself down around his cock. Hammering him deeper inside her tight ass alongside the fingers he keeps buried within her slick hot cunt, stretching herself almost too wide to accommodate him, the palm of his hand cupping her to torment her clit intermittently, reward and punishment both, her beaten ass striking down against his hard thighs with every drop.

He moves against her faster. Harder. Thrusting up to meet her as she crashes down notwithstanding the pain she causes herself. Finger nails biting into her nipples in turn, pulling harshly to encourage her upwards faster. His other hand forcing her to stretch further to take another finger inside. She's so tight on him she must feel stretched to bursting, more full than he's ever made her. His teeth close on her shoulder to hold back his screams as he's blinded by a collision of colour. Expansion without end. He holds himself back, teetering on the edge of a veritable explosion of pleasure. He forces his eyes to open, his jaw to unclench as she lets go with him, back bowing, muscles fluttering, head thrown back and mouth open wide in a soundless scream that seems to last for an age. She's so stunning. He surrenders to the sensations, allows her orgasm to drag out his own, losing himself in an explosion staggeringly exquisite, and he has just enough presence of mind left to turn them to fall sideways on to his now slick desk, dragging her over with him so that he can keep his cock within her and wrap his arms tightly around her. Exactly where she belongs, comforted in his arms and impaled upon his cock.

Possessing her completely even as she blacks out.

Perfect.

 

"Welcome back, Melinda."

 

 

x


	14. Add just a dash of angst...

Chapter 13 - Just a dash of angst...

 

Melinda's POV  
She rouses slightly when he moves her, the pain from her back as his arms lift her up to cradle her fully to carry her. She hasn't the energy to argue. Probably wouldn't even if she had the energy. She's mentally and physically exhausted. 

It's easier just to let herself float a little, hold to him as her island, trust him to deal with any threats that might arise. He's more than capable enough to handle things. She can just keep her eyes closed, let her mind be unconcerned with the world and trust him carry her wherever he wants them to go. She might presume he's taking her to his quarters through secret passages a part of her probably ought to pay a little attention to. Sighs. She can pay attention next time. She rests her head against his chest, feels the rough of his suit jacket against her cheek, and appreciates he's wrapped it around her shoulders. Inhales the scent of him all around her, comforting on an instinctive level.

"Go back to sleep, Melinda," he coaxes as he carries her, cuddling her close. "We can talk in the morning."

Talk. Always the talking with him. She deliberately lets the thought go, lets herself drift again, safely ensconced in his arms and knowing absolutely that she's no intention of revisiting their arguments (she is still going after Ward; she needs to see it done). She'll let things rest for now. 

She'll not be here in the morning for his 'talk'.

 

x


End file.
